


Tomorrow Always Knows

by jbeakers



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Adult Themes, Alcohol, Beatle AU, Gen, M/M, Multi, Smoking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbeakers/pseuds/jbeakers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I conceived an alternate take on Beatle history and approached it from a strange angle, as I'm wont to do. The story is one of reader discovery, and will have original characters introduced as the story unfolds.  This is why m/m and gen were both checked for the story. There is a definite m/m angle, but it is simply part of the overall picture to be painted, not the focus. So this is just a huge writing experiment for me, we'll see how it progresses... ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John Lennon slowly awoke in a thick haze; his entire body felt impossibly heavy. It was an overwhelming sensation he likened to being submerged in molasses. The oppressive weight on his limbs and eyelids was bad enough… but the need to breathe deeper was held just out of reach and left him on the border of panic. It was all too familiar, and he forced himself to relax. The grip would be gone soon. He just had to wait.

 

In the meantime he listened. This unnerving state left him completely disoriented. Time and space were shuffled, and he always woke not knowing where the hell he was. Fuck. He felt movement, gentle side-to-side movement, and heard the hum of passing traffic. A cough and a light rustle came from his left side. Someone was with him. Shit. No radio, so maybe he was in an ambulance? Hmm.

 

“Shit, Eppy. Are we almost there?” It couldn’t be. George? George was in the car with him? And _Epstein_??

 

“Less than an hour to go, my darling; I wasn’t tired, so I just let you boys sleep.”

 

Lennon’s mind raced. The adrenaline rush resulting from this new information would soon help free him of his shackles. _YOU BOYS? Brian driving?_

 

He heard another garbled voice, which Brian answered.

 

“Good morning, sunshine!!”

 

“I need a smoke.” Paul McCartney croaked… from somewhere near Lennon’s feet.

 

“Me, too. I thought I’d lost all ability to sleep in cramped spaces. Who knew?” Harrison whined.

 

 He heard someone else stir to his right. It must be… “Christ. This is just bullshit. I’m too old to be camping in the back of a fucking van.” Yep. Ringo.

 

Lennon slowly opened his eyes. Finally. It was still full daylight, so more than a few hours couldn’t have passed. Assuming he was still in the same day. Fuck.

 

He stared at the ceiling… of a cargo van, he guessed. In his peripheral vision he could see Harrison sat next to him _. Oh, shit, a heavily bearded George. At least I know it isn’t 1963. Shit!_ The constriction on his mind and body slowly released and a flood of recent memory washed over him.

 

 _Paul. I met Paul in London. He had a surprise. Yes. We met George and Ringo in a pub! Yes! The three wanted to give me a break from all the stress.  We’d been tossing back pints and laughing… it was good!_  Then it all went black. Now he was lying here on the floor of a van. Destination unknown, and somewhere along the way BRIAN materialized. Worse, John had woken in a state of virtual paralysis… from those bloody sleeping pills he told Cyn to throw away. They’d fucking drugged him. The anger began to burn low in his belly, but he was determined to keep his head and not react. Right.

 

He heard Paul sigh. “We’re almost there, then. That’s good. Cyn was right about those pills, yeah? Shit. How’s he doing, George, still breathing?”

 

Lennon continued his sightless stare as Harrison’s face appeared above him.

 

“He’s fi…fine?”

 

John remained stock still as his mate studied him. Feeling had returned to his hands and he slowly clenched them into two fists, and then released them.

 

“Um. Does anyone know… when John started sleeping with his eyes open?”

 

Paul chuckled. “Very funny George, that’s what you guys used to tell the press about me.”

 

“Well, then—.”

 

George never had a chance to finish his sentence.

 

John’s empty gaze slid from the ceiling and focused pointedly on George’s eyes. Harrison recognized the situation a split second late as a pair of hands shot up and snatched fistfuls of beard… and yanked downward. He found himself face to face with an infuriated John Lennon.

 

“FUCK! Lemme go, you daft bastard, that hurts!” George yelped in surprise.

 

“Shut up. Where are we going? What fucking day is it?” John hissed through clenched teeth.

 

“I’m not telling you shit, Lennon. Let go now, or be sorry.”

 

“Bullshit. Where are we going? What’s this shit all about? Start talking.”

 

“Fuck you,” George snarled. “Let go.”

 

Ringo was pressed against the door, wide eyed and at a loss for words. Paul stared in open mouthed disbelief, too. Brian went pale, but listened intently as he had to keep his eyes on the road.

 

John’s breathing was erratic, his face red, and his eyes black with rage.

 

“Fucking answer me. Now.”

 

George raised his voice. “NO, John. You’d best realize your balls are easily within reach, let go or lose them.”

 

Lennon gripped tighter, making George grunt in pain.

 

Finally recovering from the initial shock, Paul sprung into action. He turned and pushed from the passenger seat and landed on his knees beside George.

 

Offering Lennon nothing but a spiteful glare, Paul drew his hand back and bitch slapped Lennon in the groin.

 

John hollered his surprise and released George.

 

“That was just to get your attention, John, you silly bastard. You’re going to get your answers, but you’re going to do it without putting your hands on anyone.”  He turned to Brian. “Brian, please pull over. We have a bit of sorting to do.”

 

Brian pulled over, and everyone exited. Except John who patently refused to move. Ringo leaned against the front of the vehicle and smoked while chatting with George, who stood with him rubbing his sore face.

 

Five minutes later, Paul called John out of the van. He was talking on a sizeable walkie talkie looking device. John stood and glowered at him.

 

“No, George is fine, darling, just a bit of a bruised ego, I think… Don’t be sorry, we’ve been through worse than this… yes, that’s why I’m glad we planned on an emergency call if need be… you can thank Brian for that, he’s the one who invested in the new technology… oh, he’s here… just hang up when you’re finished, baby… I love you too, don’t worry… okay… here he is…”

 

Paul smirked at John and handed him the phone. “Call for you, sir. I would suggest doing more listening than talking.”

 

John took the heavy lump of plastic and stared at it. “If this is a fucking joke, it isn’t funny.”

 

“John, it’s a mobile phone, and you’ve a caller waiting on you.”

 

“Not only does air time cost money, but the battery is dodgy. Best get to answering, John.” Epstein added from behind him.

 

Ringo’s voice floated in. “It’s fucking 1989, you damn tosser. We no longer have to use smoke signals. Answer the bloody phone!”

 

John slowly put the receiver to his ear.

 

“Hello?”

 

His face softened as the other voice reached his ear. “Hi honey! I… well, yes… but… you don’t understand… …you know me better than that. I couldn’t hurt George… … uh… the hell? Did Paul give you a bloody minute-by-minute detail?? … … Well, I’d really prefer a fucking explanation right this minute... … … alright. So long as one’s coming, I guess…”

 

John shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he listened; anger crept back onto his face and back into his voice.

 

“What was I supposed to think? I know how I fucking feel when I wake from being on those damnable sleeping pills, and add to that I’m on my back in a van on the motorway? I can’t believe you handed them those pills and gave them permission… but… It was like a bloody… …but… …you know they scare the shit out of me. They fuck with my mind… ugh… yeah… … things are now becoming clearer, I think… …I won’t, of course not… … …I understand… … … well, shit. Give me just a little credit, conclusions are meant to be jumped to… … …”

 

John smiled wide, and laughed.

 

“Yes, I suppose so! ... No. I haven’t even said a proper hello to Brian, he just magically appeared. I feel as though someone kicked my bloody arse down the rabbit hole with no warning!!”… …

 

“Right. Talking only… …I wish I was home to be with… …I know. I’m sorry ‘bout that… …Okay. Yes, I’m mad at you, but it never lasts long—being mad _about_ you helps… I’ll tell him… yes, I’ll tell him, too… …I’ll do as you’ve asked. I promise… … … Well, now at least you know we’re all safe. I miss you already… … … Thank you. I love you, too, baby. See you soon.”

 

John pulled the phone from his ear and looked at the confusing mass of buttons and shook his head. He glanced at Paul and tossed the phone at him. He then drew a deep breath and looked at the afternoon sky… and slowly let the breath out as a smile spread across his face. He giggled like a teenaged fool.

 

He walked to George first, McCartney and Epstein right at his heels. “George, I’m sorry if I hurt you. I panicked when I woke up and could have handled it better.”

 

George grinned. “I’d expect nothing less from you, Lennon, but thanks.”

 

He then turned to Brian and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Hello, Eppy! Shit if it ain’t good to see you again! How’s Hot Pants Frankie?? Has he made an honest lady of you yet?”

 

Brian reddened. “Hi John. Good to see you as well. Francisco is fine.”

 

“Right. Well, I’ve been informed we’re headed to Liddypool for something of a Beatle holiday. I’m sorry my robust lad liver was able to burn so quickly through the drugs you all so kindly introduced to my system. The mystery surrounding all this is killing me, so let’s get on with it. I’m onboard and fully cooperative. And hungry. I’ll drive.”

 

Four voices answered: “NO!!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole story is a spoiler. Just another alternative Beatle history thing from me. ;)

Back on the road, the four lifelong mates fell easily into their age old touring routine of idle chat and smoking cigarettes. Both Paul and Brian skillfully kept them on the subject of planning what they wanted to do for their Beatle holiday to Liverpool, following strict instructions to keep them all in the spirit of simply being together again.

 

The last hour of the journey was interrupted only by John and George's protesting stomachs. They stopped at a restaurant and ate a quick meal. Brian took the wheel for the final few miles to the city.

 

Idly, each man began to point out landmarks in the city they all grew up in; existing landmarks and ones that were missing. They marveled that so much had changed, as if they were looking at Liverpool from a completely different angle.

 

Soon things looked a little too familiar to John, gazing from the passenger seat.

 

“Brian, you missed the turn, we’re headed to Woolton.”

 

“Yes, we are. You forget I grew up here as well?”

 

“Shit, you didn’t grow up in this part of town, you posh twit. In case you’ve forgotten, Woolton has no decent fucking accommodations.”

 

“I think the ones we have here will do quite nicely, Master Lennon. You needn’t worry.” John didn’t miss the smirk on Brian’s face.

 

“Oh… shit. I don’t like this one damn bit, I’ll have you know.” Lennon felt his stomach drop subtly. He wondered why, and then realized the others had fallen suspiciously silent.

 

John watched with some awe as Brian turned down Menlove Ave, and minutes later actually stopped in front of Mendips.

 

Paul’s voice interrupted the silence. “John, you’d best go open the gate so Brian can park.”

 

John looked at Brian with a question in his eyes. Brian waved him off. “Come on; we need to get your things inside.”

 

“We’re seriously staying here? I don’t understand. Isn’t someone living here? Christ, the last time I was in this house had to be ’63, I think, to collect Cyn and Jules. Wait, no, we visited in late ’64. Before Mimi informed me she wanted to move. Fuck. Cyn is my memory, she’d know the last time I was here.”

 

George grunted. “C’mon Lennon, quit being such a whiny fucking sod. My arse hurts and I need a piss.”

 

John threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender and jumped out to open the gate, and Brian guided the van inside.

 

As Brian pushed the driver’s door open, Lennon appeared blocking his exit. “What’s this all about?”

 

Brian reached out and patted his cheek. “Just let’s go in, shall we?” He turned to Paul. “Paul, honey, you have the key, right?”

 

“I do, darling. I’ll open the door before Geo pisses himself.”

 

“Sorry, boys we’re our own roadies on this trip. We’ll decide on sleeping arrangements when we settle a bit. We’ll just set stuff on the walk so everyone will be able to pick out their own bags.”

 

John walked to the back of the van and opened the doors, hoping there was a clue to what the fuck was going on behind them. Nothing but luggage.

 

“Please just stay here and hand off. We’ll pass everything along to avoid tripping over one another.” Brian instructed.

 

John nodded. “Thanks mum. Shit!” He muttered.

 

Five of them unloaded the baggage in little time, and Paul approached John.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

John stilled and gawked at McCartney, the overwhelming feeling he didn’t want to visit this place warring with his bottomless curiosity.

 

“Ready for what? If that screamin’ old bat is waiting in there for me, there’s gonna be Beatle blood shed this evening!”

 

Paul laughed and took John’s hand. “If we had planned to torture you that would be a spectacular way to do it, mate!! Come now.”

 

John allowed himself be led to the porch, past the other three as they stood by and watched in silence, their faces unreadable.

 

Paul stopped him outside the porch enclosure. “Close your eyes, John. I’ll lead you inside.”

 

John snorted and quickly glanced at the others. He realized they were close enough to hear his normal voice, so he whispered. “Uh… I’ve heard those words before. Except you didn’t ask me to close my eyes, and we weren’t here. We were in Hamburg.”

 

Paul gasped and slapped John’s arm as he glanced over at the others, realizing why John whispered. “SHIT, I can’t believe you!” He then switched to a whisper. “Nothing wrong with your memory, it seems. Naughty shit, you.”

 

John chuckled and closed his eyes. “Take me away, then.”

 

Paul led him through the front door and to the front parlor, halting John in the center of the room. John effortlessly counted the steps he took, and already knew exactly where he was.  As instructed, George had turned lights on throughout the house. Paul looked around and motioned the rest to come inside. When they were all assembled he put a hand on John’s shoulder.

 

“Open them now, Johnny.” Paul breathed.

 

John opened his eyes and slowly looked around, recognition settling all over his features. All at once he recognized furniture he’d bought Mimi in 1964 to shut her up, wallpaper, Mimi’s writing desk… and more.  Like apparitions of his past he studied the frighteningly concrete environment that he was convinced only existed in his memory. His eyes dragged over lacy curtains, trinkets, familiar leaded glass windows, bookshelves. Bookshelves? They were still there, flanking either side of the parlor fireplace. He slowly approached one of the shelves and shyly reached out to finger a few volumes as he sucked in a breath, sure his fingers wouldn’t feel anything solid beneath them.

 

“These… these are all the books that George and Mimi bought me.”

 

He haltingly walked the small room, the family photos were missing from the mantle, as was his MBE that Mimi cherished so; but everything else… the ‘new’ telly he bought her when the Beatles made it was here. He could swear the stink of the old woman’s perfume hung in the air.

 

John turned around deliberately and let his gaze fall on Brian. His voice was markedly weak as he spoke. “What is all this, Eppy? A time capsule? The place looks as it did when I left. It isn’t even dirty. It’s as if Mimi’s just gone off to have tea with her wannabe posh friends.”

 

Brian smiled. “No, John. The house has been rented out since Mrs. Smith sold it in 1965. I bought it… or rather you boys bought it.”

 

John shook his head caught between his youth, and his middle aged selves. Still taking in all the surreal familiarity, he murmured. “That makes no sense to me, Eppy.”

 

“You can thank Cyn for all this, John.” Paul looked to Brian, who nodded for him to continue. “When the fans got to be too much for Mimi, and you told her you’d move her to a new place? Cynthia called Brian and asked if it was possible to save all the stuff in the house.”

 

“What?”

 

“You had one of your famous rows with Mrs. Smith about the house contents. Do you remember?” Brian asked.

 

John remembered _that_. “YES. The barmy old crab said she wouldn’t move unless I bought her new _everything_. It wasn’t enough I was dropping a king’s ransom on a house, she wanted the entire fucking thing furnished.” He looked at the mantle and mumbled faintly. “All she wanted to take was a few sentimental things.”

 

“Yes. After you blew up and announced you’d have all her shit destroyed and stormed out of Kenwood, Cyn called Brian. She knew the house meant something to you, especially your memories of Uncle George. She and Brian arranged to have everything stored before the house was sold. Then Brian decided to buy the house through our company. So, really, Cyn started the whole buying houses and shit.”

 

“Good fucking Christ. This is unbelievable.” John grinned. “I can’t believe Mimi didn’t want me to marry her. Hell, I can’t believe _I_ didn’t want to marry her… I don’t deserve her, really.” John looked to Brian again. “You said **we** bought the house. What does that mean?”

 

“Since Beatlemania was still in full force, I was afraid someone would buy the house and make a mockery of it. I didn’t want to see it destroyed for people to buy splintered pieces of wood and plaster for souvenirs… part of John Lennon’s boyhood home. Remember what the hotels did with slept upon Beatle sheets?”

 

John nodded.

 

“When I mentioned my concern to Francisco, he suggested we buy the place. We formed an investment company under Beatles Ltd., and called it ‘Emanon Investments’. Soon after, we hired Francisco. The rest, as they say, is history.”

 

John briefly furrowed his brow. “I like that. No Name spelt backwards. Fucking perfect.”

 

Brian grinned and continued. “So, ‘Emanon’ bought it and it has been rented ever since.  The rent is very expensive and a very stringent agreement is included stating that all maintenance must be approved. All work is contracted and paid by the company. We’ve never had difficulty finding tenants who want to live in a Beatle dwelling. It worked splendidly. It took less than a few weeks to put it back to what it looked like when Mrs. Smith was here years ago, and I gather it doesn’t look markedly different than it did when you were growing up.”

 

“It doesn’t. It’s utterly fucking amazing.”

 

“Actually, we own all of your boyhood homes now. As each of your families moved on to other residences, we bought them all. Yours is only different because of the special Cynthia circumstances.”

 

“Indeed.” Ringo added. “We began preserving our own history before Elvis died; poor, dead, rich bastard.”

 

George snickered. “Only Brian could have the luck of finding a life mate and business partner all in one. Elvis never found out what a business partner he had in Priscilla, did he?”

 

Paul spoke up. “Francisco is a beautiful and inventive man. He changed a lot for all of us. Incidentally, we own a lot of stuff in Liddypool. When times got tough in the 70’s we invested heavily in a lot of things. Francisco orchestrated some really brilliant deals.”

 

John scowled. “Why wasn’t I informed of any of this investing shit?”

 

Paul laughed and walked over to John and snaked an arm around his waist. “Shall we throw your words back at you, Lennon?” Paul cleared his throat and spat in a lower voice, “I don’t give a shit about the business stuff. You figure-mad fuckers just keep money coming in and I’ll be happy. I don’t wanna know about it, I’ve better shit to do!”

 

John didn’t miss a beat, answering in falsetto.

 

“Oh, but darling baby doll sugar pants!! You should worry about your cash flow and fabulous percentages so you can afford some fabulous new poofy shoes!!”

 

Everyone broke out laughing.

 

Brian clapped at George and Ringo. “Come boys; let’s get the baggage in and let John wander for a bit. Paul, you go with him. We can take care of this.”

 

Paul shouldered his handbag and took a firm hold on John’s upper arm. “We’ll start with the loo. How many decades has it been since you shaved at Mendips, baby?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We continue as Brian, George and Ringo chat... while John and Paul have a look around Mendips.

“That’s fine, boys, at least everything is inside. Have a seat, I’ll start some tea.”

 

George and Ringo dropped into chairs in the parlor and lit cigarettes, the tension of the day slowly draining from them.

 

“Well, John seems quite calm now. Shit, this may be more fun than I thought.” Ringo declared.

 

George grinned. “I think so, too. Did you see his face when he saw this place? Shit, that was worth the trip on its own.” He shivered and added, “I keep waiting for Mimi to come blustering in here to toss my low brow arse off her posh furniture.”

 

Ringo looked around the room. “You know I’d only been here a few times right before we went to London for good. It really does feel like we’ve gone back in time.”

 

“Indeed. I wasn’t sure how John was going to react. He’s had a love/hate relationship with that woman for as long as I’ve known him. I wasn’t sure if he was going to tell us to piss off and find a hotel, or—.”

 

Brian appeared with a tea tray and interrupted. “Oh, NO. This will never do. We can’t smoke in here, boys. We just can’t…”

 

Wide eyed, both simply stared at Brian. Slowly a grin crept over George’s face, which seemed to spread to Ringo’s as well.

 

Brian nodded. “Right. We own it, and John will smoke if he wants to… and should be able to, it’s technically his house. Never mind. I’ll see if I can find some more ashtrays in a bit.”

 

The three men settled in with their tea, George mentioned his glee that someone remembered his favorite biscuits.

 

George shifted his weight and spoke. “You know what my greatest memory of this place is?” Brian and Ringo shook their heads, encouraging him to share.

 

“Mimi couldn’t stand any of John’s friends. Even Paul, Mr. Clean and SuperCharm couldn’t really please her. I had dropped by to go with John to band practice and as we prepared to leave, Mimi was in his face just yapping incessantly. She never had much tact. She learned somewhere posh people don’t require it, I guess. John finally had his fill and leaned over her and shouted, ‘SHADDAP, MURRAY!!!’ then pushed me toward the door. Ringo laughed out loud, Brian just looked a bit shocked.

 

“Holy shit. Here I am li’l Georgie Harrison, a kid who wouldn’t dream of back sassing an elder! And here’s Lennon screaming at his keeper. I was impressed beyond reason.”

 

“Oh, I would have loved to have seen that,” Ringo laughed.

 

“I haven’t thought about that in years. It was great. I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face all the way to practice. John didn’t pay any attention; he was busy being angry with Mimi. I think she embarrassed him a lot with that sort of behavior.”

 

Ringo noticed that Brian had slipped from the conversation.

 

“Oi, Eppy. Why the serious face, mate? You’ve seen worse from John.”

 

Brian studied his companions while choosing his words. “Have either of you seen or heard from Paul much since… the funeral?”

 

Ringo shook his head. “I haven’t. We’ve been in touch by phone occasionally, but I haven’t seen him for quite some time. He actually speaks more with Maureen than he does me, but that’s nothing new. He looks good and seems happy, considering.”

 

“Same with me. Occasional phone calls, and I really only speak to him if I catch the phone before Olivia or one of the kids does. He still keeps close contact with all the women, as he always has. I figured if there was something terribly amiss, Liv would mention it to me.”

 

Brian looked pensive but said nothing.

 

“Erm. Do you know something we don’t, Brian?” George queried.

 

“No. I suppose I’m just worried. He’s been working a lot, but all of it has been production sorts of things. No interest in performing and the like. I thought he may have wanted to get together with some of you for projects.”

 

“The poor bloke is still reeling from Robert’s death. We all just figured he needed time, and decided not to push. Paul’s the pusher, and when he’s ready he’ll begin making noises.” George offered.

 

Ringo nodded his agreement. “It’ll be awhile before the performing starts up again. No matter who he’s touring with, _Maybe I’m Amazed_ is standard set list; a crowd expectation. Shit, I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to sing Robert’s song again.”

 

“Indeed.” George sighed. “He’ll get there eventually. I think performing will follow getting back to a regular routine in life.  Don’t worry, Brian.”

 

Brian smiled. “I know. You’d think I’d quit worrying about you boys, but after almost 30 years, the habit hasn’t arrested itself. I suppose it’s good that another landmark occasion has sent John into a tizzy. This trip will be good for everyone I think.”

 

Ringo pointed at George. “You have a very valid point about a regular routine showing before he gets up and performs again. Holidays at _Castle Garish_ will certainly begin again before performing.”

 

“I think so. Christ, the things he’s done with that place are legendary. When _John_ looks forward to the next transformation, it’s a brilliant undertaking. My favorite was when he had it dressed as the Gingerbread house. I thought Liv was gonna shit when the door knocker came off in her hand, and Paul told her to take a bite; the damn thing was made of licorice.”

 

“Yeah, I thought the kids were gonna destroy the place looking for the edible bits.” Ringo giggled.

 

Brian grinned. “I think John’s favorite was the _Alice In Wonderland_ theme. I’ll never forget those poor children… bullied aside by Uncle John while he took over the Rabbit Hole corkscrew slide that replaced the grand staircase.”

 

“Cyn’s brilliant, though. She’s the one who convinced him to let the little ones ride on his legs; essentially teaching him to share. He came up with the idea on his own to make up character voices for them on the ride down. The guy is a natural memory maker.” Ringo beamed around the cigarette lodged in his lip.

 

George sniggered. “That whole theme was for John, anyway. Paul had that slide built strong and wide enough for a full grown Lennon. All those kids have fond and vivid memories of supremely cool Uncle John… thanks to brilliant Uncle Paul’s _Alice In Wonderland_ Christmas.”

 

Ringo looked at Brian. “With the heartache of the last year, it’s good to be here and supporting John. There are better things coming, he just needs some convincing.”

 

Brian grinned and sipped his tea in lieu of speaking.

 

*******

John and Paul moved upstairs, Paul fell behind John and let him lead the way. Lennon looked completely mystified and fascinated all at once. It felt like an uncomfortable dream to be here after all these years. Something felt off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Paul brought him out of his thoughts when they entered the bathroom.

 

“Creepy isn’t it? It hasn’t changed a bit.” Paul set his handbag on the edge of the tub and began burrowing through the contents.”

 

“It’s so fucking weird, Paul. It makes me feel all out of sorts. Standing here, I’m afraid to look in a mirror. Afraid a shithead 17 year old bloke will stare back at me. All pimply faced and angry at the world.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose it does, love…” Paul said absentmindedly, visibly frustrated he couldn’t find what he was looking for.

 

John looked around the small room and whistled. “It’s amazing, and so fucking small. I never realized how huge Kenwood is in comparison.”

 

Paul didn’t answer. John watched him for a moment before letting go an annoyed breath.

 

“Fuck. Isn’t enough that you’re already the queer Beatle? Do you have to carry a handbag, too?

 

“HA! Found it!” Paul pulled a disposable razor and small can of shaving cream from his bag and waved it at John.”

 

“You can’t be serious.” John deadpanned and rolled his eyes. “I didn’t come up here to shave, Paul. You’re obsessed. George and Ringo are keeping their bloody beards; there’s nothing to be done of it.”

 

“They both look like shit. I just want to make sure you don’t.” Paul pouted. “And shut it about my bag. I’ve carried one for years and it never bothered you before.”

 

“I’ll shave in the morning… and it’s enough I have Cyn constantly ignoring me while rummaging through her portable disaster; I shouldn’t have to suffer the same with you.”

 

 Paul ignored him, and dropped his hard won finds back in the bag. “This bag was a pressie from Cyn. It’s my absolute favorite.”

 

“Shit, Paul. Aren’t you even a little bit curious about this place? There’s so much to see.”

 

Paul sniffed. “Not really. Cyn didn’t have time to be here to put things in their places, so I came and did it.”

 

John snorted and turned toward the door. “I don’t know what Cyn would do without her best girlfriend,” he remarked as he wandered to the hallway and moved toward his bedroom. Paul snatched his bag and followed.

 

John opened his bedroom door and instinctively reached for the old Bakelite wall switch, and turned on the light. He gasped as he was greeted with the sight of his room. He was staring at 1958.

 

“Everything’s the same. Even the Bridget and Elvis pinups,” he marveled. “Wait, I KNOW I took those to Gambier when I moved and didn’t bring them back. Some daft shithead pissed all over them, I think.”

 

Paul giggled behind him. “Cor! Don’t remind me of that awful place. I can’t believe you and Stu lived in that cesspool. I had a hell of a time finding those posters; they’re hard to come by these days!  Most everything else you left behind is here, though.”

 

John sat on the bed and stared around him, transfixed. “It’s really amazing. Not only is it small, it’s fucking miniscule… but frighteningly comfortable.”

 

“Probably because you know Mimi isn’t going to shriek up the stairs at you at any moment,” Paul laughed. “Turn that noise off, JOHN WINSTON!!”

 

“That’s true. Wow. It’s just too much to take in. Shit. I actually miss the old Bat. That’s just wrong. I spent too many years trying to escape her clutches.”

 

“Don’t go doing that to yourself. C’mon. You were promised an explanation, and you’ll get it. The others are waiting.”

 

John snapped his head toward Paul. “Fuck. I hate conspiracies.”

 

Paul wagged a finger at him. “It wouldn’t feel like this is such a conspiracy if you hadn’t acted like an arse on the motorway. You’ve been told too much as it is. Come, our mates are waiting. You’ll have plenty of time to explore tomorrow.”

 

“You talk too much, missy.” John growled.

 

“You complain too much, mister. Meet us downstairs in two minutes. Please.”

 

John nodded and watched Paul skip from the room. He slowly looked around again. It was amazing. Even the speaker Uncle George installed so he could listen to the main radio set downstairs was here. God. Cyn managed to save him from another rash decision, didn’t she? He would have ordered everything into a lorry to be disposed of; better yet dumped in the middle of Menlove Avenue and burned. In his fit of rage he hadn’t considered what the house furnishings might mean to _him_. Shit.

 

He pushed from the bed and walked the few steps to his desk, and yanked the drawer open. Pencils, gum wrappers, India ink, colored pencils, a few guitar picks… and the penknife Uncle George made him swear he would never show Mimi. He had mixed feelings about that. He thought for sure when he left here Mimi would rifle through his belongings. He picked up the knife and pocketed it. At least her lack of caring meant that particular piece of his Uncle’s memory still existed; but he still felt the guilt of wanting to get out of here so badly that he didn’t remember to take it himself.

 

John sighed heavily and turned toward the door. Maybe whatever awaited him downstairs would take away the niggling… worry he felt. Like something was amiss. _You’ve already opened one forbidden Pandora’s Box, John. Do you remember what it was??_ John muttered a terse 'shut up' at his thought as he closed the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whole story is a spoiler, alternate Beatle history. Some new info.

Paul rushed down the stairs, hurried into the parlor and addressed his mates, trying to catch his breath.

 

“John’s right behind me. We need to have him read his letter.”

 

“Absolutely.” George agreed.

 

Ringo nodded. “I see no reason to wait.”

 

“It’s proper. When his shock wears off, he’s sure to be full of questions. Ooh. Here he comes.” Brian clapped lightly and grinned.

 

They heard John’s heavy footsteps on the stairs and all eyes were on him when he entered the room.

 

“OI! What the hell? I knew it! You fuckers were just waiting until now to kick my arse from the band!”

 

“Shut up, John. That isn’t even funny.” Paul huffed. “Now sit down.”

 

John sat, and Paul approached him with an envelope.

 

“Shit. Is Cyn serving me with divorce papers, then?!”

 

Paul shook his head, exasperated. “Again. Not funny. Just read.”

 

John took the blank envelope and stared hard at it.

 

“Go ahead, John. It won’t bite you.” Paul said as he settled in a nearby chair. “We all know the contents, so there’s no need to read it aloud.”

 

John shrugged and opened the letter. He grinned at the greeting and began to read.

 

_Dear Daddy,_

_I know you’re very angry and out of sorts right at the moment, but this will pass. Mum and I have arranged to have the Uncles take you off for several reasons. I am asking you to check your behavior and be kind to them. This wasn’t their idea, but they were quite willing to give up time for YOU. While they’re helping me, they were all delighted at the chance to spend some real time with you._

_Mum and I appreciate your need to help with wedding arrangements, but your need to interfere has come to be too much. I love you, but when John Fucking Lennon’s daughter feels a need to strangle John Fucking Lennon, something has to give way. You mean well, but your interference is hindering. You may wipe that ridiculous sneer off your face. You know this has nothing to do with your financing my wedding. You’re not my personal bank, you’re my father._

John unconsciously wiped the sneer off his face, and replaced it with a fond grin.

 

_Take this time to deal with your stubborn shit, specifically your guilt shit. You think I don’t see, but I do. You’ve nothing to feel guilty about. That’s all I’ll say. It seems to me that Liverpool is a good place to start dealing with what bothers you. So fucking do it._

“She never gets tired of analyzing me.” John said to no one in particular.

 

_Use this time wisely, please. Enjoy your mates, drink some beer, talk about things, and remember things. I was stunned when mum told me of Mimi’s household belongings in storage. She was saving that for a future wedding anniversary, and thought this a good time to use them. If that isn’t love, daddy, I certainly don’t know what is. I hope someday to surprise my own husband with something as meaningful…_

John’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “Oh…”

 

_No one is angry with you, just a bit frustrated._

_It’s okay for you to look forward to the future, too, daddy. Soon you’ll have the son you always dreamed of. Especially if you quit calling him names._

_Enough of this. Have a grand time, and we’ll miss you._

_Love, Julia_

_PS. Quit with the conspiracy theories. Those men you’re sitting with at the moment are as much family to me as you are… DO NOT be mean to them. I’ll find out._

Finished reading, John grinned absently, staring at his daughters words while fingering the paper.

 

He cleared his throat and glanced at his mates. “I can analyze her right back, you see.”

 

Paul snorted. “How so?”

 

John snorted in return. “The greeting is a dead fucking giveaway. She only calls me daddy when she’s in trouble, or wants something.”

 

Ringo shook his head. “Well, duh…”

 

“Of course she wants something. She wants you to be happy, you stubborn shit.” George laughed.

 

“Yeah, and she’s in trouble because she wants to strangle you.” Paul added. “I can relate.”

 

John ran his fingers through his hair, and sighed. “Shit. My little girl is getting married… to a Yank, no less.”

 

The group fell silent waiting for him to expand on the thought. He didn’t. “Eppy, is the telephone working here? I need to ring Cyn.”

 

“Of course it is, John. You’ll find it where you remember it to be. Please tell her hello from us?”

 

“I certainly will. I’ll be back.” John got up and went to the entryway, the letter still clutched in one hand. He grinned to himself as he heard Paul push up out of his chair. Everyone would be able to hear him in the tiny house, but only Paul would make sure.

 

John dialed and sat on the floor; he leaned against the front door and drew his knees to his chest. He then lit a cigarette and cleared his throat as he waited for an answer.

 

“Ah! Good evening, Miss Powell, lovely to hear your voice once again. I do hope I haven’t interrupted your evening.”

 

Cyn giggled in his ear. “Good evening Teds! I just finished washing my hair and can’t be on the phone long, my mum will shit if she knows I’m talking to my boyfriend with wet hair, you know.”

 

“Ha! Yes. I love a hygienic woman, even when she’s cracked a date with me to wash her hair!”

 

“I did no such thing! You ran off with your ruffian friends!”

 

“I disagree. I was Shanghaiied, I was.”

 

“Ha! How American sounding of you. Did they steal your proper British tongue from your gob, too?”

 

“Not all of it. I was actually Mickey finned. And the ruffians had some help from you, I think.”

 

Cyn laughed. “Stick a sock in it, mister. Tell me about your Mendips surprise today… did you like it?

 

 “I did. I’m still trying to overcome the fucking shock. Everything looks like it did when we left here with Jules all those years ago… shit, my room looks like it never left 1958! I’ll never be able to make it up to you, Cyn. You’ve surprised me once again, and you weren’t even here to share it with me.”

 

“It only matters that it’s for you. And it’s a relief to finally let you see it after so much time.”

 

“I still feel badly. I would have liked to have shared it with you.”

 

“Circumstances called for it, John. You needed something to take your mind off your current stress. I’m only happy it was something I could help with. Besides, you’re sharing it with me now!”

 

“Circumstances aside, dear, I still would have…”

 

“If things could have been different they would. You needed a break, and your daughter was delighted that this gift was in store for you. A simple ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

 

John laughed. “Thank you.”

 

“See, it wasn’t that difficult, love. You’re welcome. Can I assume you’ve also read your letter, then?”

 

 “Yeah. I read it, have it right here. She’s playing doctor again, but I understand. She wants to help, and all that shit.”

 

“She wants you to calm down. As do I. It’s good for you to get away with the boys, John. No kids, no wives, no gigs, no recording studios… just the four of you and Brian.”

 

“I suppose, and I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain in the arse. I’m just excitable, I guess.”

 

John realized he didn’t have an ashtray, and threw his cigarette butt on the carpet and crushed it with his heel. He heard a gasp and looked up to see Paul pointing at him with a shocked and disgusted look on his face.  John mouthed ‘fuck off, bitchy’ and waved his friend away.

 

“Christ, John. She’s been dating the boy for almost five years. You act as if the marriage has caught you off guard.  He’s a great kid, and you like him.”

 

“I liked him better before I found I’d be related to him.” John sighed and rested his forehead on his knees.

 

“Shit, John you’ve known about this… wait. You know what? We’re not having this argument again. Talk to Paul about it, he needs the distraction. I don’t.”

 

John sighed. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be sorry, be calm and thankful.  By the way, Mimi left a message on the answering service. She’s wondering about the wedding. You should probably ring her up.”

 

“Shit. No! Have Jules call her. I had a short spat with missing the old crank, but I’m quite over it. If she finds I’m here, she’ll want to come see me, and I’ll completely lose my mind.”

 

“Oh, I never thought of that. I’ll have Jules do it. I thought the girl was going to leave me a widow when you suggested Mimi be left off the invitation list.”

 

“One day our girl will learn that Mimi can’t be fixed. I still think she shouldn’t be allowed at the wedding. Fuck her, she didn’t come to mine, and made damn certain my family wasn’t there either.”

 

“Come now, John. That was years ago, and things were very different. She’s old and wants to be part of things…”

 

John cut her off. “Old is no fucking excuse. I’ll give on her attending, but I promise you I’ll have a roll of packing tape in my pocket and will…”

 

Cyn cut him off in return. “Quit blustering like a crusty codger, John, you sound like Mimi. Remember you’re the one who quit calling her.”

 

“I know! I quit calling her because she pisses me off.”

 

“I understand that, so does Jules. What you need to get through your thick head is that Julia is set on Mimi attending, because Mimi is YOUR family.  Think about it, John. Mimi is the closest thing she has to a grandparent. She’s it. Nanny’s passing last year leaves Mimi as her only link to her namesake. All of our parents are gone, John.”

 

John didn’t answer. She was right, and his silence was a sign of compliance she knew well.”

 

John felt a presence followed by a soft thud on the carpet in front of him. He looked up again and found Paul had just dropped a sizeable ashtray at his feet.

 

“For Chrissake, Paul!!!”

 

“What’s the matter with Paul?”

 

“Nothing. The smoking fairy is passing out ashtrays. I’m a big boy, Paul; I won’t burn the bloody place down!! Go the fuck away, I’m busy.”

 

Cyn laughed. “You just can’t get away from a wife, can you, John?”

 

“Apparently not. Stuck with second string, though.”

 

“Listen John; let’s just let Julia take care of this, okay? She isn’t daft enough to let on to Mimi where you are. Don’t worry about it. Put Mimi out of your mind and have a good time. Please?”

 

“Yeah. I’ll just put her out of my mind… sat here in the entryway waiting to be chased off HER fucking blower. Shit.”

 

Cyn burst out laughing. “Oh, John. Ha! The house is working on you already! You haven’t called a telephone a ‘blower’ for decades. Your Uncle George would be so proud... and Mimi would be properly scandalized!!”

 

“Oh, Christ. I didn’t even realize I said that!”

 

“You’re going to be fine.  I miss you, but I know you’re in good hands. Enjoy your holiday. The boys were apprehensive at first, but all of them were excited to be able to be there. Especially Paul. He really needs to be with all of you now, I think.”

 

“I miss you, too, love. And we’ll have a great time, I’m sure.” John looked up again to see Paul peeking around the doorjamb, and vaguely wondered if Cyn was recording the phone call for Paul’s benefit. “Macca will be fine, too.”

 

“Right. I’m going to ring off now. Jules is due any minute, I can hardly wait to tell her that her dad was on the blower, hahaha!!  Do tell everyone hello for us.”

 

“God, Cyn, don’t give the girl any more ammunition to attack me with!” John was now laughing with her.

 

“Oh, she’s going to hear it. She’ll love it. I’ll give her a kiss for you. Goodnight Teds. I love you.”

 

 “Goodnight, Miss Powell. I love you, too.”

 

John reached up and let the receiver drop into the phone cradle, his mind suddenly crammed with the past, present, and future. He hugged his knees and closed his eyes.

 

Without a word, Paul moved to John’s side and stood there. When John didn’t acknowledge him, he reached down to gently rub his back.

 

“It’s all going to be fine, John. Things are just a bit busy at the moment. Try to relax.”

 

“Yeah, I know. We need to figure out where to sleep. I’m fucking exhausted. No partying tonight, I think.”

 

“Right. Let’s go decide.” Paul lent a hand to pull John off the floor.

 

“Ungh. Shit. I’ll get a proper chair next time I use the blower.”

 

“Excuse me?” Paul huffed.

 

“The phone, you filthy minded twit. Don’t you remember anything?”

 

“I guess not… oh, think my dad used to call it that, though. I like it. It’s cheeky.”

 

“Putta zipper on it, Paulie. It’s been a full day.”

 

***

 

It was determined that Brian would sleep in Mimi’s room, John would take his own room, and Paul, George and Ringo would sleep in the guest room. “I had a nice rollaway brought in, knowing there would be five bodies and only four beds.” Brian explained.

 

“I know it’s only nine, but I feel like hammered shit, and need sleep. Those sodding sleeping pills fuck with me.” John said.

 

“We’re all tired, John. We’re not in our twenties any longer.” Ringo laughed.

 

John grinned. “Yeah. Welcome to Mendips: Home of the Codger Beatles. I’m headed up. Sleep well, mates. And thanks to all of you, its been an interesting day. Goodnight.”

 

Lennon picked up his bags and walked slowly up the stairs, still a bit entranced with his surroundings. The others listened as he readied himself for bed, and closed his bedroom door.

 

“Poor lad’s had a tough one. What with kidnappings and time travel, topped off with Mimi trouble.” George remarked.

 

Ringo grunted his agreement. “Not to worry. Cyn and Jules will keep Mimi at bay. Every time I’ve seen her around family functions, she treats him like shit. The woman has absolutely no ability to be appreciative of what he’s done for her.”

 

“I suppose so. Mrs. Smith has always been kind to me, but you’re quite right, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her be truly kind to John. One would think she’d sing his praises, but she always seems to manage to find fault with him.”

 

“She’s nice to you, Brian, because you’re what she expects John to be. Well spoken and taking his place among the elite. If she actually believed you were queer, you’d be shit on her list, too. No offense, you understand.”

 

“No offense taken, Paul; the woman is a complete mystery to me. You’d think after all this time, she’d just accept John for who he is… it’s pointless to wonder, isn’t it?”

 

“It is. You can dress Lennon any way you like, but he’s still Lennon and always will be. The rest of us like him fine that way.  I’m off to bed, then. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

 

One by one each man turned in for the night. By ten o’clock, all was silent at Mendips. Temporarily.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul have a chat. A long one. Chapter 6 will be the second half of this particular scene. :)

_Mendips. 4 a.m._

Fully dressed, Paul crept silently from the guest room and made his way to John’s room. He stood at the door and silently drew a breath. With care he inched the bedroom door open enough to slip inside.

 

“You make for a lousy ninja, Paul.” John’s voice pierced the darkness.

 

“FUCK! Godammit, Lennon!” Paul hollered and fell back against the door.

 

John chuckled and reached up to pull the chain on his bedside lamp.

 

“SSSH. You’ll wake Mimi, you fucking dolt!”

 

“What the hell, John.” Paul spat breathlessly.

 

Lennon folded his pillow in half and coughed as he turned on his side and answered.

 

“Shit. It’s fucking spooky. After all these years, I still know every creak and groan this house makes. If I didn’t know better, you were one of Mimi’s randy lodgers sneaking away in the night.”

 

“I… I…” Paul stammered. This was not happening the way he planned. He blinked hard and tried again. “So I didn’t wake you?”

 

“Nope. I slept soundly for a few hours… been awake ever since.

 

“Why?”

 

“Woke up alone. It’s strange. Too many years of always having a Beatle or Cyn in my bed, I guess. Even a cat would have been another body next to me. Alas, Cyn failed to pack a cat away with Mimi’s shit.”

 

Paul was staring at him still trying to absorb the situation, and John got tired of waiting for the other half of the conversation.

 

“So. You’ve stolen into my room fully clothed and got caught. I gather you’re not here to lull me to sleep. What the fuck’s going on?”

 

Paul recovered and smirked. “It’s prowl time, Johnny! Summer, warm, and the city’s just waiting for us.”

 

John stared at him for a few moments. “Ok. I’ll get dressed. Meet me at the back door. We gotta do this right.”

 

Paul clapped his hands and tripped over his own feet trying to get out the door. John dressed quickly and left his room. Mimi’s door was yanked open as he passed. A sleepy Brian Epstein was perplexed to see him.

 

“What the hell is going on?” His sleep sodden voice instinctively turned to that of suspicious tour manager.

 

“Hiya Eppy. Paul and I are gonna go lurk about town for a bit.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Uh, because we can… for old time’s sake and all that.”

 

“Uhhh. Wha—.”

 

“Sorry, old chap. You’re not invited.”

 

Brian, far behind in the conversation already, just stared blankly.

 

John smiled and snapped his fingers. “I know!! Later today we’ll visit NEMS, eh? I’ll nick some records and shit. For old time’s sake.”

 

“Wha-at?”

 

“Go back to bed, Mimi.” John giggled.

 

Lennon ran down the stairs, swung himself around the newel post, and launched himself toward the back of the house and through the kitchen.  He flung the back door open, and his face immediately fell. There was Paul… knelt on the back walk digging through his handbag and muttering.

 

John slapped his thighs and whined. “Well that fucking ruined the entire illusion.”

 

“What.” Paul said flatly, distracted by his activity.

 

“You with that shitbag; we’re supposed to be teenagers being naughty and sneaking around town without permission. You with that portable dump completely ruins it!”

 

“Too bad. I can’t live without it. If I don’t have my stuff, I’m not a whole person.”

 

John slapped his forehead. “Jesus. Let’s just go.”

 

Paul stood up, shouldered his bag, and handed John a cigarette. “Truce?”

 

Lennon stepped forward and took the smoke on his way by. “Truce. Where to, then?”

 

“Anywhere.” Paul gushed as he turned and happily took the crook of John’s arm and moved forward.

 

“What the hell is this, McCartney?” John nodded toward his arm and shook him off. “If you want someone to squire you about town, I’m not your boy.”

 

Unperturbed, Paul smiled smugly.

 

“Humor me. It isn’t every day I get to stroll about with my first boyfriend, ya know.  Easily the most handsome one, too—you know…the one who got away and all. No one gives a shit about middle aged Beatles, you’re safe John. Just look like you’d protect me if I’d need it.”

 

Paul reached for his arm again. “Besides, you started it with that Hamburg crack.”

 

Oddly flattered and blushing for it, John proffered his arm and grumbled. “The cemetery, then.”

 

Paul caught the subtle tone of tension in John’s voice and concern overtook him.

 

“John? Is everything alright?”

 

“Yeah. Just… let’s walk. I need to gather my thoughts. I’ve actually wanted to talk to you about something, but haven’t had the opportunity to get you alone.” _For at least 26 years…_ he added silently. “Come on.”

 

They began walking in silence, and soon Paul couldn’t stand it any longer.

 

“John…”

 

John grinned in the dim light and snorted. “Paul. Just let me sort my thoughts. I already feel silly, don’t fucking make it worse. Please.”

 

Paul nodded, but gripped John’s arm a bit tighter. He spent the rest of their walk wrestling with his imagination, trying desperately not to let it take over. John wasn’t much of a serious talker. He preferred to beat around enormous bushes, and let Paul pull information from him. It was their way.

 

Lennon initiating what appeared to be a serious conversation was… daunting? Cyn had warned Paul anything could happen on this trip. Fuck.

 

There was no question where to go within the cemetery. They took their traditional places under a specific group of trees and settled upon long forgotten grave kerbing.

 

John dug his cigarettes out of a pocket and lit one while he watched an obviously unnerved Paul sift through his bag. Again. Once Paul lit his own smoke, set his distraction aside, and gave John his attention… John nodded and spoke.

 

“We have to go back to when Julia was born. I saw my little girl before I saw Cyn.”

 

“No you didn’t.”

 

“Indeed, I did. After our row following the last Birkenhead show, you assumed I went to some nameless pub to drink myself into a stupor. I didn’t. I let my curiosity get the best of me and got myself to SeftonHospital. Late at night. I didn’t see Cyn with Julia until the following morning. Remember?”

 

“I remember. Mal was angry, he went to every one of your haunts he could think of looking for you.”

 

“Well, he looked in all the wrong fucking places. I was the last place anyone would guess.”

 

 “I also remember being called a nag because we were making holiday plans, and you mentioned going to Spain with Brian. No matter when it was you saw Julia; you made the right decision and spent your time off with your girls. We were fighting because I wanted you to stay home with Cyn and Julia, John. I was afraid that you were going to decide on Spain to avoid them; to run away from your problem, as you saw it at the time. None of this is shattering news to me.”

 

John scowled and scratched his chin. “Okay, this is where it’s going to get fucking difficult. What I’m going to tell you must stay between the two of us.”

 

Paul snorted. “Okay. Why wouldn’t it?”

 

“I don’t want Cyn or Julia to know, and hopefully the reasons why will become clear to you.”

 

Hearing that, Paul’s eyes widened and he opened is mouth to speak. John held up a hand and spoke first.

 

“Just wait! You and Cyn have been close for a very long time, and I’ve never complained of it. It’s strangely comforting for some reason, and since Jules has been part of the secret… birdy club… thing… for so long… shit. Just this once things have to be different.”

 

Paul narrowed his eyes and spoke evenly. “You’d best be very careful John Lennon. If you reveal anything to me that will hurt either Cyn or your daughter…”

 

“NO! No. This is no confession of wrongdoing, not at all. Shit, Paul, I just want to be assured that **one** thing I share with my best mate won’t leak to my wife or daughter. Just this.”

 

Paul relaxed and studied John’s face. He finally nodded in agreement. “If you don’t want me to tell, I won’t. I reserve the right to punch you in the face if I don’t like it, though.”

 

John chuckled. “I don’t think it’ll drive you to violence. It’s more likely you’ll think me stupid or stark raving mad. Or both.”

 

“I already know you’re mad, and know you’re not stupid. So do tell, what is this thing you don’t want known… to your girls, anyway.”

 

John shrugged, his indecision written all over his face. Paul wasn’t just great friends with Cyn; she was unquestionably his bestie. The bird club consisted of Paul and every female associated with Beatles.

 

“Sorry, the thing you don’t want _anyone_ to know. I promise, John, whatever you have to say will stay between us.”

 

John acknowledged the promise with a wave of his hand and coughed lightly.

 

“As I said, I went to hospital the night before I was scheduled to make the daddy appearance. I don’t know what exactly made me decide to do so, but I was there and made my way to the nursery. Only one, thankfully young, nurse was on duty. She recognized me and immediately told me visiting hours were long over. I pulled my long, sorry face and begged to be able to see my child, if only for a minute. I was prepared to bribe her with show tickets, but she gave in and led me into the nursery.”

 

“I guess a lot of new fathers had dropped babies in the past, because she made me sit down and explained how to hold her safely before bringing her to me. I was damn glad I was sitting considering what happened next.”

 

John’s gaze had wandered from Paul and settled upon this point in the past, he was now staring over Paul’s shoulder. His voice had dropped into a story telling cadence, as if he were relating a tale he’d voiced many times before.

 

“It was the most fantastic thing I’ve ever experienced. The nurse said she was sleepy when she put her in my arms. Jules wriggled a bit, and her eyes were closed. She was very pink and tiny, and a bit alien looking… oddly beautiful were the first words that came to my mind. The third word was ‘ _mine_ ’. I could feel her relax when she nestled into the crook of my arm; it was as if the size and shape of that space was made just for her use. I just held still and stared at her, breathless. It took a few minutes for me to realize she wasn’t going to explode or disappear in a cloud of smoke, and slowly I began to relax. ”

 

John had now closed his eyes, a soft grin showing through, fully immersed in the memory.

 

“Then she opened her eyes, and I was a goner. I know she was only a few days old, but I could swear it was recognition on her face. While I’d worried about her screaming at the sight of me, she just gurgled and continued to look at me. No fear, no hesitation. At a complete loss, I offered a soft ‘hello’. She waved her arms around a bit and worked her fingers. I looked at her mouth and realized I couldn’t wait to hear the word ‘daddy’ spoken from it. I reached with a finger and stroked her little cheek and tickled her chin. She spit out a strangled sheep noise, and fucking smiled. It thrilled the shit out of me. It’s not easy to put into words, that feeling.”

 

Lennon blindly dug his cigarettes out and lit another one, then continued.

 

“I don’t know what it was. Something snapped or cracked, or crumbled inside me. I suddenly had to protect this girl creature in my arms, had to make sure nothing ever hurt her. I wanted her to have everything. I wanted to be her hero. The fear and shame I’d been living for nine months just disappeared.”

 

“I glanced at the nurse and asked if I could get up and walk with her a bit. She agreed, but stood near should my fingers turn to butter. They didn’t. She helped me put Julia up to my shoulder, and I walked circles with her while she played with my ear. It was stupidly charming to me. The nurse also kindly informed me that shift change was coming, and I needed to leave soon. I begged for a few more minutes and she gave in.

 

Before I knew it, I’d stopped in the middle of the room and began to sing to my daughter…my mum’s favorite Elvis song…I suppose it could be considered our first dance; if my holding her and swaying in the middle of a room can be called dancing.”

 

Paul knew immediately what the song would be and his eyes filled with tears as John cleared his throat and began to sing. He watched as John swayed side to side, and re-lived a precious and very private moment with a tiny girl weighting his shoulder.

 

_I’ll be as strong as a mountain,_

_Or weak as a willow tree,_

_Any way you want me,_

_That’s how I will be._

_I’ll be as tame as a baby,_

_Or wild as the raging sea,_

_Any way you want me,_

_That’s how I will be._

_In your hand my heart is clay,_

_To take and mold as you may._

_I’m what you make me,_

_You’ve only to take me,_

_And in your arms I will stay._

_I’ll be a fool or a wise man,_

_My darling you hold the key,_

_Yes, any way you want me,_

_That’s how I will be._

_I will be._

John lengthened the last note; his voice had thickened with emotion that surprised and scared him a bit. He grappled with his feelings, and gradually understood it was his verbal mention of his mother that caught him off guard. Julia. Two Julias. _His_ Julias.  It was too much for now, and he pushed the thoughts aside. He remained silent wondering if he could even continue without his voice cracking. Shit.

 

Paul’s mind reeled as he grasped the meaning of the words John had chosen to sing to his new daughter. He also marveled at John’s strikingly gentle delivery of one of Elvis’s most famous belters. John had managed to alter the song from a passionate lover’s promise into an earnest father’s pledge to his newborn child—with only his voice. Shit. John never stopped astounding him with beautiful things like this. _Fucking hell. We should record that._  Afraid to break the spell of his story, Paul sniffled once and quietly waited for John to continue.

 

 

 

A/N: The belter is _Any Way You Want Me (That’s How I Will Be)_ Written by Aaron Schroeder, Cliff Owens. Released as the B side of _Love Me Tender_  September 28, 1956


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technically the last half of chapter 5... finish of the cemetery talk scene ;)
> 
> The baby stuff is a stretch at best... but ya know... nothing is real here, anyway. LOL.

His eyes still closed, Lennon smiled and swallowed thickly. “She was sound asleep when I finished singing; I don’t remember when she quit messing about with my ear. I just remember she was so light, and smelled so good—though I found out that would change later. Good Christ. She moved a bit, so I figured she was waking up.”

“This is the weird part. I lifted her off my shoulder and held her in front of me so we were face to face. I kissed her on the forehead; she sheep gurgled again and grabbed my left sideboard, and wouldn’t let go. The nurse had to pry her off me, I was sure if I tried to pull her away bodily, her little arm would have broken off.”

 

“When she took Julia back to the baby… barracks, I guess, I was fucking devastated. If they’d have let me sit there all night with her, I would have. That short time with her was so… there really isn’t a word for it... important to me, I guess. I can feel the frustration still, all these years later.  I felt empty when she was taken from me.”

 

John had made the connection. _Taken from me_. He kept that thought to himself.

 

Paul let out a whimper of sympathy, but nothing more.

 

 “The young nurse is the only person who knew about my visit. She accepted show tickets, and an autograph. She babbled about the song and other things, I really can’t remember… but she asked for an address so she could send Julia birthday cards. She still sends one every year, signed Nurse Beatle Fan. She’s never breathed a word to anyone. I’ve wanted to thank her over the years, but didn’t want to break the cycle. Cyn thinks she was just taken with Jules so she always updated our address whenever needed.”

 

Paul grinned fondly, tears in his eyes.

 

“Shit, Lennon. You keep one hell of a secret. I wish I could have seen all of that. I remember you dancing with your mum to that song more than a few times. I did, too. She loved that song.”

 

John sighed deeply, but didn’t answer.

 

 Paul hoped the sigh wasn’t one of regret. He decided embarrassment was more likely and added, “Oh, and it isn’t unusual, the clutching your sideboard. Babies have incredible grip, and latch onto anything they actually touch.”

 

John opened his eyes and looked at Paul. “Yeah. That’s what the nurse said. I may be an absolute nutter, but she continued to do that all through her childhood.” John leaned forward. “Paul, she does that to this very day. Any time she kisses me, hugs me, whatever… she always grabs a sideboard; not hard, mind you, but it’s like it’s our thing. I’ve no idea whether she knows she’s doing it or not.”

 

“Well, shit, John why don’t you just tell… ohhh.” he trailed off, as he made the connection himself. “You don’t want her to know, because she may do that out of early memory habit, or some shit.”

 

“Precisely. Well, that, and I don’t want her to think I’ve lost my fucking mind. I really don’t want to make her conscious of it. I swear, ever since the first time she did that, I have a permanent sensation there, like she has always had a ghostly hold on my facial hair. Just on the left side, I scratch at it when I notice it.”

 

Paul shook his head with wonder. John coughed.

 

“I don’t want Cyn to know either, but that plays into another bloody guilt trip. Shit.”

 

Paul ignored the last remark. “John, Jules needs to hear that story. So does Cyn.”

 

John’s jaw dropped. “Have you listened to fucking **anything** I’ve said? I just told you why I don’t want to do that!”

 

“You misunderstand. You can leave the life-long sideboard pulls out. Everything else is just what happened and how you felt when you first met your daughter. They’d both be delighted. If you think Cyn will be upset, you’ve another thing coming. She’ll love it. Those days were really hard on her, and you know why.”

 

“Shit. Yeah, I know. The guilt mountain just keeps building itself. The wedding stuff is making me crazy. Do you have any idea how it feels to know that while my wife is helping our daughter plan her wedding she can’t sit around and tell stories about her own wedding? She can’t list things that went right, things that went wrong? She can’t talk about the man she couldn’t wait to marry because he treated her so well? ‘Oops, you’re preggies? Guess we should get married, then.’ Nice memory. Fuck it all.”

 

“God dammit, John. When are you going to make peace with this? Cynthia is happy. You two started out on the wrong foot, obviously the timing was terrible, but you’ve made good on it. I know you get tired of hearing the ‘you guys were young’ stuff, but in your case it’s quite true. Your situation wasn’t unique, you weren’t the first to marry out of obligation and find actual love a bit later.”

 

“I don’t know much of anything anymore, Paul. It’s just a bloody fucking shambles in my mind.”

 

“Then start simply. It’s only the wedding that’s begun this, uh, stressful episode with you. What Cyn really needs from you is to enjoy this wedding stuff _with_ her. Think of it from her point of view, maybe. Instead of feeling guilty about what Cyn didn’t have, feel good about how much fun she’s having with Julia right now! Let her be a doting mom, and have a go at being a doting dad. Quit being a fucking drag.”

 

John threw his hands up. “Shit, mate… you think I haven’t heard any of that before? This was part of the reason I told you the story. I think? Now I’ve confused myself, dammit. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to tell them.”

 

“It would be the perfect thing to make up for your Mendips surprise, if you asked me.”

 

“I didn’t ask, but you may be right.”

 

“Here’s something to consider, John. You and Cyn will be celebrating 27 years of marriage this year. Think back on those years, how many of them have you been a raving lunatic wracked with guilt?”

 

John thought a moment, and a wry smile appeared. “Only a few, really. I suppose as marriage goes our time has been quite normal. We’ve had our shitty times, but nothing truly serious.”

 

“Right, and those times can’t even be measured in years; those tough times were weathered and you both are still standing. You just tend to go a bit wonky when you let your guilt rule you. You’ve been a wonderful husband and dad. Give yourself some credit, John, Cynthia has.”

 

John sighed and shook his head. “I suppose I should. I just don’t deserve—.”

 

Paul interrupted him. “NO. No more of that talk. That’s Mimi whispering in your ear, and you need to wipe the words ‘don’t deserve’ out of your vocabulary. You deserve everything you have, John, all the happiness and rewards you have were _earned_. Marriages don’t build themselves, and daughters don’t raise themselves. Mimi can take all the credit she wants for your success, but it was you who actually achieved it. She can’t stand that what _Julia Lennon_ wanted for her son came to fruition. Don’t listen to Mimi’s voice; listen to your mum’s.”

 

John flinched and widened his eyes with surprise. “What made you say that about Julia?”

 

Paul smirked. “I have some memories of my own that I’ve kept to myself. You sparked a few of them chatting with Cyn the other night. You just need to let Mimi bluster and snipe at you. Instead of taking it personally, just roll your eyes and enjoy the praise you’re receiving in a foreign language.”

 

John barked out a laugh. “Mimi-ese? Jules would like that, I think. You have a good point. I know she’s proud of me in her own way. I’ve always given her and Uncle George credit for raising me, but it never is fucking good enough.”

 

Paul nodded and looked at John thoughtfully.

 

“I do have one question. Why did you wait so long to tell me about your secret meeting? You could have told me when Jules was still sheep gurgling and Cyn and I hadn’t begun to get as close as we have.”

 

John was silent and looked away. He clenched his jaw as he struggled to offer an acceptable answer. “I didn’t want it to hurt your feelings, I guess.”

 

Paul shook his head slowly, his face twisted with confusion.

 

“My feelings? I love that kid, how could your first meeting her hurt my feelings?”

 

Lennon scratched at his stubbly chin and sighed. “That was when I realized things had to end… well… change significantly between you and me. That’s when I chose. I sat in an empty hospital waiting room and decided things needed to be different. It was the easiest and most heartbreaking decision I ever made in my life. Ever.”

 

John continued to look away with an avalanche of memories of that early morning struggle with himself crashing down on him. Memories he had carefully left undisturbed for decades. _Fucking life. Fucking Liverpool. Now you’ve done it, you’ve shown too much of your hand. FUCK._ John was a terrible poker player.

 

Paul said nothing, though his mind momentarily vapor locked. _WHAT!?_ He fixed his gaze on John waiting until he received his attention once more. John felt it and slowly shifted his eyes to meet Paul’s.

 

Paul read John’s silent plea immediately. _Not now. Please. Not now._ He winked his silent agreement, and watched as the intense anxiety faded from his best mate’s eyes.

 

With the immediate tension gone, Paul rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Come on, Johnny boy.” John accepted the assistance and grunted as he got to his feet.

 

Without a word, Paul stepped forward and pulled John into a hug. “You worry too much, Lennon. Everything’s going to be fine. Everything.”

 

John just stood there dumbly. So many thoughts whirling around his brain, he couldn’t catch one to articulate.

 

Paul felt the confusion and giggled. “Um, I can stand here all day and cling to you, it wouldn’t bother me one bit. It might be quite the talk about town, though. If you expect me to release you any time soon, you’d best hug me back.”

 

Thankful for some direction, John wrapped his arms around Paul and squeezed tight.

 

“That’s better. We don’t have to discuss everything in one sitting, John. Let’s just take things as they come and not over-do it.”  Despite this declaration McCartney was paging through his own memories of that time period.

 

“Thank you.” It’s all John could muster.

 

“We need to get back. Brian’ll have the cops out looking for us.”

 

“Mmm. Brian knows we’re out lurking. We woke him up. I think he and I have a date to go steal shit at NEMS later on.”

 

Paul laughed and pulled from John. “Well you can’t be late for a date, can you?” As they turned to leave, Paul reached and slapped Lennon’s arse. Hard.

 

“What the hell was that for?”

 

“That would be what Cyn and I talk about most. Your perfect arse.”

 

Lennon’s mouth fell open. Paul read the question straight away.

 

“Don’t worry, we’re very discreet. We only talk about your eyes when the child is present. Let’s go… we’ll take the long way home. It’s a beautiful morning.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tale continues. John and Paul return to Mendips after their cemetery chat.

_Mendips. 10 a.m. John and Paul return from their early morning cemetery chat._

John and Paul stomped through the back door and found George and Ringo smoking, eating, and passing newspaper sections back and forth.

 

“Shit!” Lennon exclaimed. “Except for your furry faces, I’d guess we were on tour… in ’64!”

 

“Maybe we are, and your eyesight is still just shitty.” George deadpanned. “Who smoked all the ciggies?! Does that sound familiar?”

 

Lennon giggled as he reached for a tea cup. “Yeah! It does! Have you pigged all the brekky, you fucking skinny shithead?”

 

“Now THAT sounds like old fashioned tour-talk to me.” Ringo laughed. “Where you two blokes been? You must have gotten up before first light.”

 

John looked to Paul, but he had commenced another handbag mining operation, completely oblivious to the conversation.

 

“Ah, just been creeping about town; like we did when we were kids. It isn’t as much fun when we’re not putting something over on the teenage jail keepers. I had the only temporary thrill when Brian caught me sneaking out.”

 

George and Ringo snickered.

 

John sipped his tea and leaned on the counter. He nodded his head at Paul and looked at his other two mates. “Paul, luv, did you lose something in there? You have three strong lads here; we can help you dump the thing on the floor.”

 

George and Ringo cracked huge smiles, and waited on an answer.

 

“HA! Found ‘em!” Paul marched across the small kitchen and thrust a disposable razor and a can of shaving cream in John’s face.

 

John didn’t flinch, but a smirk appeared. His eyes twinkled with delight.

 

“Sod off. I don’t need any help. Take these. You can have first crack at the shower, and make sure you shave. We only need two face messes in the group, thanks.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Paul. Are you still on that? I’m not shavin’ my beard!” George griped.

 

Ringo scoffed. “Me either. Give up the ghost, Paul.”

 

John listened to all this and began to rub his stubble. “You know, I think I can get some real growth on here before the wedding… could pull off the distinguished English dad look.”

 

Paul narrowed his eyes. “Don’t fuck with me. Go shower and shave… then have a kip. You didn’t get enough sleep and you look tired. That shit had best be missing off your face when you show it again later.”

 

John drained his tea and belched with satisfaction. “Yes, dear; I don’t need the implements dredged from the depths of your lady pouch. Cyn packed my shaving kit. And yes, I could use a bit of a kip.”

 

“Good.” Paul then sternly pointed toward the stairs.

 

John slipped into an exaggerated baritone voice. “See you soon, my hairy brothers. Stay clear of the shitbag, he probably has a barber hiding in there.” He waved madly, and hurried his steps when Paul glared at him as he sat at the kitchen table.

 

“He seems to be doing well; he didn’t even have to shove a fist in his mouth when he said the word _wedding_.” George observed.

 

Ringo giggled. “Yeah. I thought it was bad when he lost his head when Jules left for university. He thought the fucking world was gonna end.”

 

Paul shook his head and smiled ruefully. “He’ll be fine, eventually. Hey, isn’t Brian up yet?”

 

“Yep. He left a few minutes before you got back. Said he had some errands. I swear he’ll drop dead one day right in the middle of an errand.” George said.

 

Paul winced, but didn’t say anything. George caught it. “Sorry, mate. Bad joke.”

 

“Its okay, darling; we’ll all have a chat about Robert soon. I need you blokes to stop walking on egg shells around me.”

 

George was silent as he swallowed a bite of toast. “Whatever you like, Paul. You don’t have to feel obligated to do that.”

 

“No. I need to. While I’ve briefly talked to each of you during this… sad time, it’s a rare opportunity to have all of us together and be able to share a bit about hard times. We don’t even have to huddle in a foreign loo to do so.” Paul grinned.

 

George laughed. “Oh, more tour memories. I swear I never thought that the head splitting noise would ever stop. Christ.”

 

“None of us did. Sometimes I hear it in my sleep. I don’t know if its bad dreams or a long echo that’ll never go away.” Ringo added. “It isn’t a fond memory, but it’s fading a bit finally. Now we have more fun on the way. The first Beatle sprog is getting married!”

 

George smiled. “Shit. Wasn’t it just yesterday John announced _he_ was getting married and we all were worrying about what was gonna happen to the group?”

 

“Nah. It was just a bump in the road, and Christ what a little beauty came out of that union, eh?” Ringo winked and leaned on the table.

 

“I’ll never forget the first time I held her.” George remembered fondly. “I wanted kids after that; I wanted one of those. John used to get so angry when I wouldn’t give her up. ‘Fucking hell, Harrison, gimme my girl. It ain’t rocket science, go make one of yer own!’ he’d complain.”

 

“Well, you did a bang up job of that, mate. Now you have fucking six of them!” Ringo laughed and playfully slapped George on the shoulder. “I’m just as guilty. But I kept it to three, like a sane man.”

 

“Unfortunately I took John up on that suggestion and married the first girl who appealed to me. Hard lesson learned, for both Pattie and me.”

 

Ringo shook his head. “Ah, mate. No harm done. Both of you realized your mistake and went your separate ways peacefully. You found Olivia, and she found Eric.  Mo mentioned to me that Pattie was coming to the wedding, too?”

 

“Yeah, she is.  She’ll always be part of the family. She and I found we didn’t want the same things, but she still fit in brilliantly with all the wives and kids. Especially with Eric so busy all those years ago.”

 

“I’ve always loved Pattie, and she always found time to come visit when I’d have Ladies’ Weekend at HighPark.”

 

“You mean ‘Mother’s Desertion’ weekend at _Castle Garish_.” Ringo scoffed.

 

Paul wrinkled his nose. “Stop calling it that. It’s a beautiful house, and big enough to house the lot of you during holidays.”

 

George threw up his hands. “It’s a pink castle, Paul. After all these years even the kids call it _Castle Garish_. Thank Uncle John for that. He loves it as much as any of us. Shit, even Robert called it that.” 

 

Paul’s eyes twinkled as he reflected upon the time gone by. “Yeah, we’ve had a lot of great years of fun there. And the babies were best of all. You blokes kept me busy with babies to dote on for so long!” Paul hugged himself with glee.

 

“Julia was the first, though, and a fucking exceptional one she was. Uh. Is.” George snickered.

 

John was finished with his shower and moving to his bedroom when he heard the name of his daughter mentioned downstairs. He stopped and turned around, and padded to the steps wondering what his mates were talking about. He crept halfway down the stairs and sat quietly. He felt sneaky, as if he were 16 again… listening in on Mimi and her gang of fellow wannabe upper-class bints.

 

“Just like her daddy.” Ringo snorted. “Most any description of him could be used for that girl; blunt, talented, whimsical. Even beautiful, but don’t tell him I said that.  Only I believe she’s bested him in the profanity department… when the teacher becomes the student, you know.”

 

Paul slapped the table and laughed.

 

“And he started her out early! Robert and I were at Cavendish, he had been off the drugs for some time, and we had Julia over for the weekend; I can’t remember why, though… Jules was probably four at the time, and Robert had traded heroin in favor of ice cream. We had every flavor imaginable at the house. He asked Jules if she’d like some, of course she did, and they set off for the kitchen to indulge. A few minutes later I went into the kitchen for some reason or another, just in time to see the ice cream roll off the top of Jules’ cone and land on the floor. You wouldn’t have believed such a small voice could muster such a deep ‘FUCK!’ Both Robert and I stood there with our mouths hanging open, both wondering how she spat that out in John’s tone of voice!! The little thing realized her mistake, and you wouldn’t believe what came out next.”

 

By now Ringo and George were howling with laughter. “Oh god what?” George managed to squeak.

 

 “Shit. Daddy told me I could only say that when only me and him were home.”

 

This touched off another raucous roar of laughter from the three.  Ringo hiccupped and squeaked, “What did you do?”

 

Paul wiped his eyes and giggled before he found his voice. “Nothing. I got her some more ice cream and told her to remember to always do what daddy says! The funny thing is later on I found out Robert told her not to feel bad. She could speak as she wished with Uncle Robert. She charmed the shit out of that man…” He trailed off as a quiver took control of his chin.

 

Ringo scooted his chair over and wrapped an arm around Paul’s shoulders. “Its okay, Paulie. Remembering is good; all the children have great memories of Robert. We all do.”

 

Paul grunted and leaned into his friend. “I know. It felt really good to tell that story. Robert loved Julia so. And she loved him. Sorry. She would say she loved the fucking hell out of him.”

 

John sighed and leaned his head on the gaudy wall paper. He closed his eyes and willed his jealous thoughts off. He’d no right to be jealous of the man at all. Robert Fraser made Paul happy, and that’s all that ever mattered. John had managed a truly pleasant relationship with Robert. He liked him, for chrissake. Even missed him.

 

  _It was always for Paul’s sake_ , his inner shithead voice reminded him.

 

  _AND Julia’s,_ his inner daddy voice retorted. John told them both to shut up.

 

John got up and slunk to his room, flopped on the bed and mulled the morning’s cemetery chat. Paul was right.  His life had come to a great place; he hadn’t a thing to complain about. He had a happy marriage, a beautiful and successful daughter, his career path always was clear—somehow his little family survived all of the stumbling blocks. What the fuck was his problem?

 

 _Liverpool, Hamburg, and your inability to communicate_ , _for a start_ , a new voice suggested. It sounded like a combination of Jules and Cyn.

 

 _And a bit more, son. Are you willing to say what needs to be said for your own sake? Denial is bad for the soul. It has only hurt you, hasn’t it? It isn’t Paul who needs to know, it’s YOU who needs to let go of it. Confess._ It was a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time. His own.

 

Memories.

 

 _Take this time to deal with your stubborn shit, specifically your guilt shit._ His daughter’s written words floated through his mind. Paul. Shit. John’s heart clenched just a tad at the thought of doors of the past being yanked open and dusty, long ignored memories tumbling out. Memories that should be handled with care because their razor sharp edges still held the ability to open fresh wounds, though he wasn’t sure if he was protecting Paul or himself. John had ventured forward and unbolted the one door he had never meant to disturb.

 

“Shoulda been straightforward in the first place, you cowardly twat,” he griped to himself as he closed his eyes and drifted off.

 

Three Beatles sat and stared at one another until Paul spoke.

 

“Since you blokes have me speaking of Robert, I think this evening we should have a chat. Have you noticed Brian acting daft at all?”

 

George and Ringo glanced at each other, both recalling their short talk with Brian the night before.

 

“Yeah. He’s really jumpy about you, as a matter of fact.” George said this while turning his gaze to Ringo, gauging his reaction.

 

Ringo winked and picked up the conversation.

 

“He seems concerned that you haven’t talked much to anyone since…”

 

Paul sighed. “I know. He’s concerned about me and while he means well, has managed to upset me in the process.”

 

George shifted in his seat and spoke more bluntly than he realized. “About what?”

 

Both George and Ringo watched as Paul’s eyes shuttered themselves, and he switched to ‘vague Paul’.

 

“He can, and did. I’m okay for now, but really want to address all of you with those concerns. While this trip is about John, it’s also about me.”

 

Paul raised a hand when his friends’ mouths began to open at the same time.

 

“Just wait. I’ve thought long and hard about this, and this conversation is going to be a bitch. Particularly for John. I haven’t even spoken to Cyn about any of this _concern_ of Brian’s.”

 

Both Paul’s friends’ mouths snapped shut at this statement. If Cyn didn’t know _, no one_ knew.

 

Ringo recovered first and cleared his throat. “Right. How can we help, then?”

 

George, still dumbfounded, simply nodded his agreement to the question.

 

“Same as always, just listen and keep both of us in line. You now how John can be, I bloody well know he won’t take this well.”

 

Paul pushed from the table and moved toward his handbag. An unspoken indication he was finished with the conversation.

 

“We’ll just take it as it comes. I’ll talk to Brian when he comes in. For now, I’m off for a bath and some quiet time. It’s been a dreadfully long morning.”

 

George and Ringo stared at each other, unsure what to say. Or not say? Ringo shrugged and spoke.

 

“Alright, then. George wanted to talk to the family, I already called Mo earlier. Then I think we’ll head out and wander the city a bit. If we happen to see Brian we’ll send him here.”

 

“Excellent plan.” Paul murmured this as he turned to leave the kitchen. “We could all be here around four o’clock. I know Brian was planning to cook, may as well be tonight.”

 

“Aye, it isn’t even noon, plenty of time for us to knock around for a bit. Especially with no kids or wives to…”

 

“OH! That’s the other thing.” Paul interrupted. “Keep the drinking to a minimum. I need you two with clear heads.”

 

Ringo laughed. “Aw. George, you forgot the extra wife was here. Silly boy.”

 

Paul grinned, and then fixed them with a serious stare. “Please.”

 

Both men nodded and watched as Paul turned and disappeared through the kitchen doorway.

 

“Fuck. Trouble’s a-comin’. I can feel it, Ritch.”

 

“I know. Go make your call George. I’m ready to go any time. I’m in dire need of a pint.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tale continues. The next few chapters are all directly related, I'll add the last paragraph to following chapters... It's easier for me to track, as I'm posting elsewhere.

_Kenwood. Summer 1970_

 

Seven year old Julia Lennon entered her father’s music room without a word, a growling and unhappy cat trapped beneath one arm.

 

“Good morning, Miss Lennon.”

 

“Good morning, Daddy.”

 

“I don’t understand why you didn’t want to go to FriarPark with mummy today; you love to play with the other kids, especially the baby.”

 

Julia sighed, clearly put out by John’s coddling tone.

 

“I just wanted to be with you today.” She half lifted the squirming, mangy cat for John’s attention. “I’m fucking tired of cats. I hate them, they hate me, and they’re stupid. We need a dog.”

 

“We’re not getting a bloody dog, for the thousandth time. They’re messy. And the cats aren’t stupid.” He eyed the feline victim under Julia’s arm. “Except that one. He should know better than to let you catch him. You’ve become quite the melodramatic princess over this subject.”

 

“Don’t call me names.”  Julia huffed and let the cat drop to the floor with a sickening thump; it squawked and ran for the door. She squared her shoulders and fixed her father with a determined scowl, clenching her fists. “Shit. I guess I’ll just stop talking to a mean dad who won’t listen to me. I wish Uncle Paul was here. He’d listen.” She turned on her heel and left the room.

 

Two hours later, a town car drove up to Kenwood. John, Julia, and a rambunctious black lab retriever puppy exited the car. John picked up a bag of kibble and a box of puppy essentials and sighed.

 

“Shit. Yer mum’s gonna be pissed off. You know that, right?”

 

Julia scooped up her puppy and laughed. “No she won’t, daddy. She said if you said yes I could have one!!”

 

“Jesus Christ. You’re fucking unbelievable. I hope you don’t shame me one day and become a filthy lawyer. Ugh.  Let’s get him in the back garden and get to know him, then.”

 

John settled on a set of concrete steps and watched his daughter play in the grass with her new friend and was suddenly glad she’d taken the initiative to stay home with him today… her dog procurement motivations aside. This made him grin, as he lit a cigarette.

 

He leaned forward and studied his girl. Her name suited her perfectly. She had that fire red hair. Not too dark, not too light. John swore her hair glowed in the dark, as he felt his mum’s had. It was long, and Jules despised the nightly brushing. He delighted in taunting his daughter as Cyn worked to brush out her wayward mane. John giggling and making faces while his wife gently assured the frustrated girl that all those curls were actually a blessing she would be proud of some day.

 

As he watched and listened, he noted his girl had her namesake’s infectious laugh, and her mother’s smile. Everyone said she had his eyes, and this secretly flattered him beyond belief. Though he always quipped he couldn’t see it, so it must be true. Har de har har.  He felt pain on his fingers and noted his ciggie had burned down, distracting him.

 

“C’mere, Jules. He must be getting thirsty with all the roughing about you’ve put him through!”

 

Julia leaned down and swept the pup up in her arms and approached John.

 

“Okay, the man said it’s important to name him something simple. Have you picked a name yet? You can’t keep calling him ‘doggie’.”

 

John immediately regretted the question, given the smirk that appeared on the kid’s face.

 

She continued toward him and unceremoniously dropped the squirming ball of energy on John’s balls as she announced: “Daddy, meet ‘Kitty’.

 

John’s jaw dropped. He grunted as the young dog’s rear feet continued to pummel his balls trying to get a foothold to lick at his face. “You aren’t serious.”

 

“I’m quite serious, daddy. Don’t you think that’s better than ‘doggie’?”

 

John suddenly felt pain on his face. Stinging pain. How could a licky dog cause such agony? Did the little fucker bite his lip??

 

“OW! FUCK!” His hand went to his mouth and felt something cold pull away. He opened his eyes to find Paul with a stern—no—a classic bitch face, standing above him with tweezers in his hand.

 

“I told you not to fuck with me. Leaving the mustache was a bad choice, Lennon. Since you can’t be cooperative, I’ll have to pluck it hair by hair.”

 

Eyes watering, John rubbed the painful spot Paul had just plucked. “Fuck! I’ll shave it, you daft bloody bastard!”

 

“Of course you will. Say, what’s with the grunt and crotch grab in your sleep, anyway? It didn’t seem very gratifying…”

 

“Just a silly dream. Julia. Remember Kitty?”

 

Paul laughed out loud. “How could I forget that dog? You were crushed when he died. You wouldn’t speak to anyone for weeks!”

 

John relaxed and grinned. “Shit, I loved that dog. I took care of him… fed him, walked him, cleaned up after him and mourned him when he was gone. He went everywhere with me for eight years. Julia lost interest in him after the shock of the name wore off. Little shit.”

 

“Come now. That dog was never Julia’s because you fell in love with him. It was hysterical to watch you and your overtly masculine dog… calling him Kitty. You’re just mad because she thought of that name first.”

 

John arched an eyebrow. “It was a stupid name, dammit. Must have been a sight to see my fifteen year old daughter helping her sobbing old man out of the vet’s office after Kitty went away. Good thing she was a rule breaker. She had to drive home. I couldn’t even drive.”

 

“Christ, John. You still can’t drive.” Paul scoffed.

 

John stretched and yawned. “Oh, shut it. Christ, what time is it? What’s going on with everyone?”

 

“It’s after four. We were going to go out, but Brian decided to cook. Hungry?”

 

“Famished. Not quite George famished, but famished. Brian cooking, eh? Probably some arse burning Spanish shit Mr. Frankly taught him to cook.”

 

Paul rolled his eyes. “Can’t you call him Francisco like the rest of us, John?”

 

“Of course not. He’s been some form of Frankie since I met him; been over 20 years I’ve been calling him that. He’s my mate just like the rest of you, you sensitive bitch. Remember how scared Brian was to introduce him to me?”

 

“For good reason. Your memory is failing. I believe you called him ‘Frankie The Arse Bandit’ or something even less appropriate. Little did you know how serious Brian was about him.”

 

“Fuck off. I apologized to both of them. I changed it to ‘Frankie The Spanish Acquisition’ after that.”

 

“Yeah,” Paul snorted. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to Brian; to all of us, really. Francisco was there to pick up the pieces and keep Brian busy when we quit touring.”

 

“Indeed. The two of them are what made us the rich arseholes we are today.”

 

Paul’s eyes had wandered to the window, deep in thought he didn’t answer John.

 

“Is there something the matter, Macca?”

 

“Huh? No, no. Just thinking. Get that shit shaved off your face and get downstairs. I’m hungry.” Without another word Paul turned on his heel and left the room.

 

********

John pushed his plate away and belched. George and Ringo snickered. Brian and Paul both gasped and looked mortified.

 

“Oi, you silly sods. That’s a fantastic meal compliment, you know. Cyn doesn’t let me do that shit at home; it’s good to be around the boys again!”

 

“It’s SO nice know you’re still a swine, Lennon,” Paul quipped. “I’ll start dishes if you guys’ll clear.”

 

“Fair enough,” Ringo agreed. George just continued to eat. Some things never changed.

 

With the table cleared, Paul and Brian sent the other three to the living room with a promise to bring tea when the kitchen was once again put in order.

 

Three Beatles with stuffed guts smoked and made small talk until a grim faced Brian arrived with a tea tray. In typical George fashion, he questioned the absence of biscuits. “Paul’s bringing them along,” Brian mumbled.

 

Soon an equally grim Paul arrived with a plate of biscuits, and everyone set to pouring tea and munching sweets.

 

It wasn’t long before an uneasy silence settled among them, and it was Paul who felt it most heavily. He glanced at Brian who intentionally ignored it.

 

Paul coughed and scanned the faces before him. “I’d like to address something that we need to talk about, if you guys feel up to it”

 

John laughed. “I shaved the mustache, Paul. I’ll stay on top of it!”

 

Paul grinned at Lennon’s attempt at levity, and shook his head.

 

“I’m talking about Robert.”

 

Brian jumped from his chair and stretched. “Well, that’s it for me, boys, I’m knackered and will make my way to bed. Enjoy your evening and I’ll see you all in the morning.” The false cheer in his voice was conspicuous.

 

A stunned John, George, and Ringo immediately looked to Paul.

 

Paul’s only reaction was to stand up. “Sleep well, darling. I know you’ve had a rough day.”

 

Brian walked over and hugged him, and whispered something the others couldn’t hear. “I understand… its okay,” Paul murmured. Brian clung to him a little too long, as far as the others were concerned. There was something wrong.

 

When Brian pulled away from Paul he grinned as he surveyed ‘his boys’ sprawled over the sofa and overstuffed chairs. “So much like the old days, do stay out of trouble, you lot.”

 

Everyone laughed and bid him goodnight. They all watched him as he left the room, and then listened as he slowly ascended the stairs.

 

Ringo threw his hands up. “What the hell is that all about, Paul? Even Brian doesn’t retire before eight in the evening.”

 

“I’d like to know as well,” George added. John just stared pointedly, waiting for Paul’s answer.

 

Paul sighed and dropped into an easy chair. “He’s scared to dea—out of his mind. I haven’t helped by not staying in more frequent touch with him. He’s been looking too hard at a lot of things, I suppose.”

 

John cleared his throat and cocked his head in an effort to get Paul to reach his point. He knew stalling when he heard it.

 

“He’s frightened of the AIDS that took my Robert last year.”

 

John narrowed his eyes. “Macca? Is he sick?”

 

The wheels turning in three Beatle heads were almost audible as they pondered Robert and Paul… and Brian and Francisco.

 

Paul cleared his throat and willed himself not to appear as disturbed as he actually was. “No. Brian’s not sick. Neither is Francisco.”

 

John’s eyes widened as a sinister thought dawned on him; he felt his throat constrict as he choked on his own words. “Macca, are _you_ sick?”

 

Paul faked a casual grin and shook his head, but too many years of watching McCartney negotiate the press made his weak attempt at a silent answer an obvious deception.

 

“You haven’t answered me,” John quietly pressed.

 

Paul looked John in the eye and spoke the unstable truth. “No, John. I’m not sick.”

 

“Brian doesn’t worry about _nothing_ ,” George said flatly. Ringo grunted his agreement.

 

Paul slowly let out a shuddery breath.

 

“He and Francisco are in no danger.  Neither of them has lived a high risk lifestyle. In spite of that, they both get themselves tested regularly. There is so much not known about the disease, it frightens them. Especially Brian.”

 

John leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. He coughed and drew his hands down his face, side eying Paul as he spoke through his fingers. “So he’s worried about you.”

 

 John’s mind faltered as he felt the familiar cold fingers of fear seize his heart. Again. It was well known that AIDS claimed Robert, but Cyn had adamantly assured him that Paul was safe. Cyn would never lie to him about Paul. Never, which meant… whatever Paul wasn’t saying, he hadn’t shared with Cyn. He could feel himself losing the grip on his senses.

 

“He’s just being Brian,” Paul offered.

 

John jumped up and loomed over Paul, both hands planted firmly on the arm rests of his chair… his fear dissolving into anger. “Bullshit. There’s more, and you’d best begin talking or I’ll go fucking roust Brian out of bed and shake it out of him.”

 

Undaunted by Lennon’s hostile reaction, Paul planted two palms on John’s chest and pushed him away as he got up to face him. “Robert was diagnosed in 1984, but was sick for longer than that. The doctors couldn’t work out what was wrong with him. When we learned it was AIDS… the very day testing became available I began getting tested, _regularly_. I’m clean. Don’t you fucking _dare_ go make it worse for Brian.” Paul continued to stare John down, unwilling to give in.

 

John’s set his jaw, and the questioning began. “What kind of danger are you in? What has Brian so upset? I can understand if you were still fucking Robert when he was sick and didn’t know it, but that isn’t a new concern.”

 

“It’s a very legitimate concern, and that’s precisely the reason I continue to get tested.”

 

Lennon could see the apprehension in Paul’s eyes. He was leaving something out, and wasn’t going to give it up. Only his pride was strong enough for that. John paged through his knowledge of the situation, and quickly connected the dots. He was done asking questions. He made a statement instead.

 

“Robert didn’t kick the smack. Not for all the years we thought he did, anyway. That’s why we assumed he was always faithful to you… it was the drugs that made him… do things he shouldn’t…” John’s voice lost strength as he spoke and he trailed off hoping his words were completely off base. Paul’s face crumpled. Fuck it all. It was true.

 

John continued as the scenario became clearer to him, panic and rage raised his voice as he converted his understanding to words. “So, you’re facing two more nasty risks, aren’t you? Courtesy of Robert?! Shared needles and faith breaking fucks! And you took his hand and continued down your romantic fairytale happy road. You probably helped him hide it and continued to fuck him, too! _BLOODY. FUCKING. HELL!!”_

 

“John, I think you need to let it go for now,” Ringo’s voice was loud and sharp as he glanced at George. They both got up off the sofa.

 

George quickly latched onto John’s shoulders and backed him to his chair tactfully requesting he calm down. He noted Lennon was trembling, a manifestation of his fear and wrath. He quietly murmured calming words to John, silently thankful no one had suggested drinking during this discussion.

 

 Ringo took Paul’s elbow. “C’mon Paul, let’s get you some air. This is too much.”

 

Paul burst into tears and jerked away from Ringo’s grasp. “No! No, please. Let me talk. I need to quit sitting on this and talk about it with you guys. MY MATES.”

 

George and Ringo exchanged glances, and nodded at each other. John shivered and squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to regain his composure.

 

Ringo coaxed Paul to sit down, and held his hand until Paul calmed a bit before speaking. “Go ahead Paul. Let’s just try not to let things get out of hand, yeah?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The AIDS chat scene continues.

From the last chapter:

_Paul burst into tears and jerked away from Ringo’s grasp. “No! No, please. Let me talk. I need to quit sitting on this and talk about it with you guys. MY MATES.”_

_George and Ringo exchanged glances, and nodded at each other. John shivered and squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to regain his composure._

_Ringo coaxed Paul to sit down, and held his hand until Paul calmed a bit before speaking. “Go ahead Paul. Let’s just try not to let things get out of hand, yeah?”_

 

 

Paul sniffed, and glanced at John. “I didn’t know, Brian just told me all this shit recently. I still don’t know for sure. I always knew when he was hopped up on that shit, and I know he wasn’t shooting it around me. You know Brian and his connections… he’s heard some things and whether they’re true or not, I need to be careful.”

 

John opened his eyes and tried gallantly to hide his disgust. It never worked when it came to the subject of Robert, though he rarely let it show in Paul’s presence. It was Cyn who had to peel John from the ceiling when she informed him that Robert had AIDS in the first place.

 

“How can you miss someone like that? I don’t understand that at all.” His sneer was pointed and as mean as ever.

 

 Paul’s wet eyes flashed with resentful anger, and he fought to speak evenly.

 

“Listen to me John. Listen well. As far as Brian has been able to figure it, Robert did this occasionally. It was always when he was traveling, and as everyone knows, he traveled very little in the last fifteen years. We both semi-retired so we could spend more time together. He only traveled three or four times a year, and many of those times I was with him. It was the same in reverse. He was with me for many of the things I did as well. It’s only this fucked up disease that prompted Brian to even look into things. He’s afraid for me.”

 

“Bullshit. It only takes _once_.” John seethed.

 

“You need to fucking _listen_ to me, John. I only need to be cautious because this MAY have happened. I don’t believe it, but I’m not daft enough to ignore it. I was there when Robert kicked the heroin. I know all about the signs. I saw none of them. Nothing changed between us. Neither of us was perfect nor was our relationship. I loved that man for over twenty years, and we were happy. We had our rough times, and I know he cheated several times before.”

 

John blinked sharply and his softening jaw set hard once again.

 

“YOU KNOW he cheated on you?” He gripped the arms of his chair to control the shudder that rocked him as his adrenal glands flooded his blood stream with a fresh supply of rage.

 

Paul sighed nodded. “Yes, I never wanted you to know. I didn’t want anyone to know because the problem was between Robert and me. Just us. We learned to talk to each other and solve things. We had to work at it, especially since we came from two different worlds.”

 

“How lovely,” John scoffed. “You should have left the cheating son of a bitch...”

 

Paul gave John a very long and knowing look. He refused to bark back at John, refused to give John what he wanted.

 

“I knew you’d say something like that. Think for a minute, John. Do you want someone to say something like that to Cyn some day? Is that how you’d like to be remembered? Not for your growing and successful marriage, but for your mistakes early on? You’d best tread lightly with your judgments.”

 

John snorted. “That’s not a fair fucking assessment. You just keep living in your flowers and rainbow world, Paul; it’s suited you fine all these years. Christ…”

 

This pissed George off. John just wanted to bicker and hurt Paul and George had heard enough. “God dammit. Stop it Lennon.” He threw John an indignant look then crouched next to Paul’s chair and took his hand. “Just tell me something, mate: are you in any immediate danger? Have you had any symptoms or things that make you think you may be sick?”

 

Tears rolled down Paul’s face as he gazed at Harrison’s beard covered face, and stared into his warm, dark eyes. The protective Dad in George had surfaced, and Paul was the welcome recipient of George’s extensive experience comforting his own children. He squeezed his hand and grinned through his tears.

 

“No, George. I don’t feel as if I’m in any immediate danger. It’s the loss that hurts. I miss Robert and our life together. I feel lost and disconnected, but I haven’t given up on life. I can’t. I love too many people to give up. You and I talked of that when Robert first was diagnosed. I haven’t forgotten.”

 

George smiled and nodded. “That’s the right answer, Paulie. Never give up. Robert wouldn’t want you to. He also wouldn’t want you to take all this on alone, and you know that.”

 

George leaned forward and kissed Paul on the forehead. “I feel better about the danger; you’re handling it and not ignoring it. I’m off to bed. I suspect you need to deal with the jealous twat behind me. Ringo can stay and referee if he wants. I’ll see you blokes in the morning.” He pushed himself to his feet and ruffled Paul’s hair on the way by.

 

“Thanks Georgie-love. Lock your door, I found scissors in the kitchen.” George let out a booming laugh, but turned and gave John a stern look of warning. John nodded imperceptibly and watched the father of six leave the room.

 

Ringo walked to Paul and bent down to kiss his cheek. “Things are gonna be fine, girlfriend. You just wait and see. If Envy Green over there gets out of line, just give us a shout. We’ll kick the green right out of his arse.” Paul reached out and hugged him tight.

 

“Don’t worry about me, darling. I can handle the shithead from here on. I love you guys, you know.”

 

Ringo stood up and giggled. “We know. Things’ll work out. George is absolutely right. Robert would expect you to be happy and think good things of him and your life together. I’ll see you in the morning then, Punkin’ Butt.”

 

“Oh God; I hope that was a compliment.” Paul laughed. Ringo didn’t answer; instead he turned and addressed John.

 

“We all love you as well, though sometimes you make it nearly impossible.  Bastard.”

 

John laughed and held his arms out. “What, no kissy-face for Johnny boy?”

 

“Sorry. I have a headache. You’re welcome to kiss my arse, though. Darling. Good night mates.”  With a wave, he left the room and padded up the stairs.

 

Paul sniffed and looked over at John, whose face had become unreadable while he stared at his hands.

 

“I need tissues. I’ll take the tea tray to the kitchen. My inner housewife is aching, I’ll be right back.” He gathered up the dishes and left the room, leaving John to stew in his thoughts for a bit.

 

***

 Ringo entered the back bedroom and found George sitting on the edge of his bed with a cigarette in one corner of his mouth, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and tugging his beard with the other.

 

“Well, that was not what I bloody expected when Paul was dropping chat hints this morning.”

 

George looked up and shook his head. “Fuck, no. I had hoped it was something more mundane. Like Robert was an art thief, and left Paul with a pile of stolen stuff; in my wildest imagination I didn’t think it was something like this.”

 

“Yeah. I was tempted to stop by Brian’s room and question him myself, but Paul made it clear he didn’t want anyone to disturb him about this.”

 

“I considered doing the same. Instead I ransacked the kitchen looking for a bottle. Now I don’t want to drink in case shit gets serious downstairs again.”

 

Ringo walked over and plucked the open bottle from Georges grip and took a short pull. “I don’t have that problem. I’m scrappier when I’m a bit pissed. John sure is being a twat. I thought the worst of the AIDS scare with Paul was settled.”

 

George sighed. “Yes. Paul’s a fountain of knowledge on the disease, but for the first time tonight I saw fear for himself. Robert has always been his concern. It’s fucked up.”

 

Ringo swigged from the bottle again and sat on his bed facing George. “John’s taking all this a bit personally, don’t you think?”

 

George leaned to stub his cigarette out, and blew out a lungful of smoke before answering. “I’ve a feeling this is part of the reason we’re here. I worked out my problems with the queer shit with each of them years ago… but I’m not certain they worked everything out between them.”

 

Ringo nodded. “I didn’t have anything to work out, really. I figured it out in Hamburg, and had I held any doubts about either of them I wouldn’t have joined the group. None of my business; which isn’t to say I didn’t spend a damn fair amount of my time worrying about them. ”

 

“Gimme that bottle, if we’re gonna talk about this.” George gulped a fair amount of the burning liquid and cleared his throat.

 

“I worried, too. I’m not even sure when they parted ways… uh, physically. I only know when I walked in on Paul with another guy that time, I felt sick… thinking he was cheating on John. It seems laughable now.”

 

“Though I think you wouldn’t mention that memory in mixed Beatle-lad company even now.” Ringo snorted.

 

“Oh, fuck, no. At some point Paul assured me John knew… but I don’t think he did. The look on Paul’s face was not one of daft surprise; it was one of being caught out… then relief that I wasn’t Lennon.” George then took it upon himself to guzzle an impressive portion of the bottle, only stopping when Ringo took it away.

 

“Christ, Harrison! You’re gonna be yakking in the corner of Mimi’s spotless room if ya keep that shit up. I know, I’ve speculated a lot of things over the years… but I thought the same thing back then when you told me about that other guy.”

 

“Well mate, welcome back to the stress of 1964. We’re back to waiting for the other shoe that never dropped. Fuck.” George belched and grunted.

 

“Maybe this is something they both need to get out of their systems? I don’t know.” Ringo swallowed some more liquor and handed the bottle back.

 

“Could be. Cynthia and Jules set this whole thing up, so it’s meant to help John. They know him better than even we do, I think. Just have to trust them.”

 

Ringo shook his head. “All we can do.”

 

“I seriously haven’t given it much thought in a lot of years. Everything turned out fine… eventually. We were all busy being Beatles, raising families, helping each other out. My kids love their straight uncles as they do their gay ones; they’re just loving uncles to them.”

 

“Mine, too.” Ringo mused. “This is just another small bump in the road. They’ll get through it. It feels good to get away with you blokes. Been too long.”

 

George squinted at his friend, grinned stupidly, and then dropped back on his bed. “I can’t continue talking with two of you. If you hear anything, go downstairs and be scrappy.”

 

Ringo smiled fondly reciting another old tour line. “Go to sleep. Yer drunk, George.”

 

****

 

When Paul returned clutching a box of tissues John had begun fidgeting, thinking about all that was said.

 

“I’m sorry, Paul. I didn’t mean to fly apart. It’s hard to explain. Maybe impossible.”

 

Paul sighed as he dropped into his chair. “Do you want the Paul answer to that, or the Jules answer?”

 

“Yours.”

 

“If you’d let me explain, you might understand why I’m not dismissing my own health because I’m pining over someone who cheated on me and possibly made me sick.”

 

“And continued to do drugs.”

 

“No, John. You zeroed in on the cheating right off. Even when I told you it can’t be proven because its information obtained from a gossip network of queers who love to do nothing more than make each other look bad. The other cheating was earlier in our relationship, growing pains I guess. The drugs are just more ammunition for you to be angry at Robert.”

 

John had no answer to that, his mind briefly re-visiting their cemetery conversation… he stayed silent as he nervously twirled his wedding ring.

 

“John. When AIDS came ‘round, it wasn’t long before everyone was advised to use condoms. Well, I’d been using condoms since 1964. ish. I still worry, and Brian does as well, that it isn’t enough. My doctors were thrilled to find out that I’d been so diligent, and said it my chances were much better that I haven’t caught the stuff.”

 

John looked up and Paul momentarily saw his grin before he forced it off his face. “I don’t understand. The doctors said your chances are better. You should be happy, and maybe a little proud of your… diligence.” John nearly gagged on the last word.

 

“Well. Not everyone is convinced that safe sex is actually safe. There’s still a lot to be learned about the disease. For my part of the relationship, I was completely faithful to Robert, so he’s really my only risk. Anyone before Robert was presumably before the AIDS shit.”

 

John winced at the last of Paul’s comment, but rubbed his face roughly to hide it. “I’ve never doubted your faithfulness to Robert, though I wouldn’t have blamed you. So you feel as if your chances are better, but in the end it’s really a dice roll. Is that what you’re telling me?”

 

“Yes. I’m afraid like everyone else.  Honestly, if it’s lying dormant somewhere in me, there isn’t anything to be done about it. I can’t just stop living because of that fear. This was my point with George earlier. I lost Robert. He is gone, and he isn’t coming back. I loved him, John. I’ve lost the love of my life. It doesn’t matter how he passed; if he died in a car accident or fell out of a tree, I would still miss him. The pain is no different.”

 

John shrugged and looked into Paul’s eyes. Paul saw the confusion and tinge of guilt, but the blame… and jealousy still burned bright as ever. In 26 years the jealousy never left those eyes. Paul had always found this strangely flattering, but never dared speak to it; to John, or _anyone_ else. Ever.

 

“Let me tell you a bit about love and endings, John. I stayed by Robert and took care of him. I watched helplessly as he withered away. It was slow, and agonizing, and painful. Any wrong you feel he had done was paid in full.”

 

John paled as Paul’s face contorted, and his voice thickened as he gave in and let his tears fall unchecked.

 

“Robert suffered like no one should ever have to. And I suffered right along side of him. You’ve no idea what its like to watch helplessly as the person you love dies; to watch disease and pain twist their body and face into someone barely recognizable.  It’s an honor and a curse to hold a dying hand until it grows cold.”

 

Still holding Paul’s gaze, John whispered. “No, I really don’t, Macca. Fuck. I’m sorry. I should have been there for you.”

 

Paul shook his head dabbed his eyes. “No. That time belonged to us; to say goodbye. I had to work tirelessly to keep a cheery attitude and a smile for him. I had to be strong for both of us. There isn’t anything you could have done for me, John. It was probably the only time you would have been unwelcome in our home. No one was welcome. When Robert became bed-ridden only doctors and nurses were allowed in. That was our wish; to be together and alone until the end.”

 

Paul’s chest hitched, and his eyes filled again. “Anyroad, instead of letting myself just miss him and face the loss, I allowed myself to be frightened. I don’t want to die like that, John. I don’t want to suffer that kind of pain and hang on for months. The thought scares the bloody hell out of me. It’s a torturous death. I don’t want that, and that’s why I’m so persistent about getting tested. It’s a fucking nightmare to die like that.”

 

John leaned forward, his eyes dark and hard. He spoke slowly and with unwavering conviction. “None of us will _ever_ let that happen to you. You can take my word on that.”

 

Paul allowed a single sob to escape and let the tears fall. “Thank you. You’ve never said anything more beautiful to me.”

 

John simply nodded, aware Paul had more to say.

 

Paul blew out a wet breath and continued. “So I’m stuck between a broken heart and fear of this shitty disease. It was Cynthia and Jules who tackled me down and convinced me to pull my head out of my arse. Cyn finally made it clear to me I was doing Robert no honor by burying myself in work and running away. Being a “denialist”, as Jules put it later.”

 

John smiled. “That’s how my girls work. They tag team. How did they pummel you into submission, then?”

 

Paul smirked and let out a light chuckle. “Oh shit. Cynthia called me relentlessly, and then when I gave in, Jules took over. Cyn just stepped aside and unleashed your kid on me. Jules arranged to come to Scotland for a week, and demanded I clear my schedule.

 

“Once again, all this shit happened right under my nose. They’re fucking stealthy. I hadn’t a clue.”

 

“Shit, John. They knew you’d overreact and attempt to storm ‘Castle Garish’ and that would not have helped me. You like to fix things, but sometimes you lack a bit in the gentleness department.”

 

John snorted, not sure if that was a compliment. “Sorry?”

 

“Oh, I know you would have meant well, but your coarse style of comfort wasn’t what I needed right at the time. You and I have things to clear up between us, and those things would have interfered at a very bad time. Had Cyn believed I needed you, she would have sent you.”

 

John shrugged; no longer concerned about being insulted, he instead worried what Cyn (or Paul for that matter) knew of the Lennon/McCartney “issues”. What if he _didn’t_ have any secrets? Ah, shit.

 

“Anyroad, Jules came and stayed with me. Fucking little drill sergeant, she is. Every minute of my time was accounted for every day. It was just what I needed. She got the grieving process going and let me scream and cry and hate Robert for leaving me. All the standard grieving stuff, you know. We took long walks and laughed and cried and just remembered Robert.  She told me about my place in the wedding the night before she left for home. I still can’t believe it.”

 

“She’s been absolutely mad about her Uncle Paul from as far back as she can remember. I wasn’t surprised at all that she asked you to stand up for her, neither was Cyn. Jules’ gaggle of giggly girlfriends who all should be yanking hair and scratching each others’ eyes out over who gets the honor are all completely pacified. All thrilled because they all get to be in a wedding with Queen Cutie Beatle. Jesus! This is costing a fortune.”

 

 Paul smiled, and wiped his eyes. “You may as well know that this Liverpool trip was planned at the same time. You were beginning to wear on the poor kid, even a month ago. Do you know the last thing that beautiful daughter of yours said to me?”

 

John smiled. “I can’t imagine.”

 

“She told me that it was _time_ I talk to you about my grief and concerns. Can you believe that? I think she’s the only one who truly understands the Lennon-McCartney dysfunction! The little shit has your charisma and her mother’s way with people. She’s fucking perfect.”

 

“Hmm. That she is. What was the Jules answer to my apologizing for my, eh, outburst, anyway?”

 

Paul chortled and clapped his hands.

 

“Fuck off, Dad, act your age instead of your dick size.”

 

“I thought it may be something like that. She’s studied way too much Freud, I think.”

 

Paul giggled. “She’s good at what she does, John. She prepared me for your reaction tonight. She knew you’d explode when you learned of Robert’s indiscretions.”

 

“Wait. My own daughter knew of this horseshit, and didn’t tell me?”

 

“Yeah. Cyn, too, she knew of all of them. She was my rock during those tough times. But she isn’t aware of Brian’s little revelations. Neither is Jules. Brian just made it worse, I’ve been scared shitless ever since Robert was diagnosed.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but you should have called Cyn about Brian. She’s going to be pissed, you know. And you’d best make sure you tell her it wasn’t me who told you NOT to call her.”

 

Paul nodded. “I’ll call her soon. She won’t be angry. Jules may be, though. She won’t be happy I jumped into this without consulting her. She was my coach on this one. Shit, she fed me the ‘Lennon growing marriage’ line. Only hers was littered with expletives! ”

 

John smiled and laughed. “Well, I owe it to her to make her proud. I really am sorry for exploding like a complete jackass. Jules is always telling me I need to check my own shit pile before digging through someone else’s.”

 

“Thank you. Dr. Lennon told me your jealousy streaks are nearly impossible to erase and it’s something we all just have to fucking live with. I already knew that, though. Always have.”

 

John snorted. “Maybe it’s a good thing she’s getting married and moving away. She can move on to a new pet project. She’ll have Yankee Doodle to study. Ugh.”

 

“She’s not leaving you John. She’s living her life, and like her cranky old dad she’s done things in her own time and in her own way. Quit saying she’s moving away. They’ll be living here in England. AND… quit calling him that. The boy has a proper name, you know…”

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “You can turn the Cyn recording off now. None of this is about me: subject change, please. He dropped his hand and tilted his head, eyes shining with amusement. I do have a question to ask, if you don’t mind.”

 

Paul chuckled. “What, you can’t remember the name of the man who’s going to be your son in law??”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of this chat scene. Next chapters we'll go a bit into the past, perhaps learn a bit about teenage Julia; among other characters. ;)

End of last chapter…

_John pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “You can turn the Cyn recording off now. None of this is about me: subject change, please. He dropped his hand and tilted his head, eyes shining with amusement. I do have a question to ask, if you don’t mind.”_

_Paul chuckled. “What, you can’t remember the name of the man who’s going to be your son in law??”_

 

 

“I remember the Yank’s name, don’t you worry about that. So, what of this condom use you brought up tonight?”

 

“Well, that’s quite the subject change!” Paul teased.

 

“Just give, Paul. You brought it up.”

 

“I’m not entirely sure I understand the question, darling. What do you want to know?”

 

“Well… why, for one thing; why bother? I mean… at least in the old days, what was the point? No pregnancy fear and kind of limited VD worries. Who wants to take time to put on a rubber? It’s a fucking tease, if you asked me.”

 

Paul laughed. “Oh, you’re feeling all _cocky_ now because we didn’t use them? That we were so enthusiastic that we couldn’t bother?”

 

John looked surprised, but recovered quickly. “Uh, not necessarily… but it does make me feel a bit special…somehow. Shit, I mean… I can’t decide whether to feel proud... or feel like some kind of pervert. It’s an entirely uncomfortable feeling.”

 

John felt a sharp pain behind his forehead, accompanied by his own voice hollering at him. _What the fuck are you doing?! Is this how you’ve chosen to bring up the intimate past?? Subjects as these have been off the table for both of you since fucking 1963!!! And… and… why is it that Paul hasn’t so much as blushed at the subject matter?! Shiiiiit…_

 

Paul gave him a fond grin and paused as he watched his best mate squirm while waiting for his answer.

 

“You needn’t worry about being a pervert, and I guess you can feel proud if it suits you. The answer is much simpler than that, and much less flattering than you may be imagining. The truth is I learned a lot of lessons with you, John.”

 

John stared at him with a completely blank face.

 

“Excuse me? We learned a lot of naughty things together, none of them having to do with cock covers. You make no sense, you barmy queen.”

 

Paul barked a short laugh and slapped the arm of his chair.

 

“Christ. You act like you don’t know me, and you don’t remember anything!”

 

“I remember plenty, thank you very much. I’m not that old.” John’s tone was clipped as he crossed his arms primly.

 

“I’m a clean and tidy lad, always have been. I hated the mess. You were almost always furious because I’d immediately get up and change bedding, shower… anything to be rid of the mess.”

 

John thought for a moment and then roared with laughter. “Oh shit. You **did** do that. Steals the romance right away, son; it was easier to be mad at you for not wanting to cuddle.”

 

Paul gaped at him. _Romance?  What romance?_ He promptly swept that thought away, and fixed his face with a stupid grin. “Just a man’s right to be tidy… and you’re lying.” Paul snorted.

 

“Fucking lying about what!?”

 

“You weren’t mad because you were being robbed of cuddles, you were mad because I made you get out of bed so I could change it. You were always so annoyed you never even helped me make the bed!”

 

John waved the comment off. “Not my fault you wore me out. I was tired.”

 

“Not my fault either… it was better when we went and… oh never mind…” Paul reddened and let himself relax back in the chair and closed his eyes; Feeling a bit sorry he mentioned condoms in the first place. _What the fuck is going on? The subject of ‘us’ was closed years ago. But I can’t just slam the door yet… he told me that story for a reason this morning. Shit._

 

John laughed and shifted his weight, silently wondering how that last sentence ended.

 

Paul suddenly sat forward and set his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands. The mischievous look on his face unsettled John.

 

“My turn for a question, then.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Back in the day, would you have agreed to use condoms, had I asked?”

 

John paused, genuinely surprised by the question.

 

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

 

“Yeah, I think I know, too. But I’m not sure.”

 

John scratched his chin and scowled. “Probably, but not without a fight; for reasons I’ve already mentioned. It would have pissed me off, because I really would have thought it a filthy tease.”

 

“Yes, you would have been angry. At first.  And?”

 

John coughed and rolled his eyes.

 

“Shit, I give up. AND in those days I would have done anything to get my hands on you. Happy now?”

 

Paul clapped and laughed. “I am. It’s always good to know the first one actually wanted me. A lady needs that kind of reassurance once in awhile!!”

 

John shook his head and his face flushed, but he didn’t hide his pleased grin.

 

“C’mon first boyfriend, I could use another cuppa. I love microwaves!!” Paul pushed out of his chair and grabbed John by his shirt sleeve and pulled.

 

In the kitchen, Paul busied himself making tea while John sat at the small table and watched.

 

“Tea is such a snap now. Fuck the purists. Hot water is hot water. Who cares how it gets that way. Fast is absolutely brilliant.”

 

“The Galloping Gourmet would have your balls for such insolence, my dear boy. If Mimi didn’t get them first, or kick someone’s arse for allowing a microwave in her kitchen.”

 

“He would not, and before you ask... yes, I still think he’s gay. I can’t argue with the Mimi thing, though. She would have had my balls for being in her kitchen, at all.” Paul handed John his tea cup. “See? Brilliant. ”

 

As they headed to the living room John wondered aloud.

 

“Do you feel better after talking about all this shit with me, or do you just feel better that you fulfilled Jules’ mission?”

 

Paul sat down and sipped his tea.

 

“I feel much better, I knew I would.  I’m very glad she demanded I talk to you. It’s just how we work. Just like everything with us, you’re a pain in the arse to reckon with. Shit, you’ve always been such a stubborn sod.”

 

“Sorry, Paulie; I gotta be me.”

 

 “I’d like to take advantage of that stubbornness if you don’t mind.”

 

“Whatever you like.”

 

“Please try to convince Brian to quit worrying, or at least get him to not worry so much. Every time I talk to him about this I make it worse. Can you do that?”

 

John grinned and gave himself a pound on the chest. “I’m John Fucking Lennon. I can convince him he’s straight.”

 

“You’d relish that challenge, I’m sure. I just want him to have some peace about all this. He’s going to worry himself into a heart attack. I’d hoped he would sit in on this blasted conversation tonight, but he told me he couldn’t handle it.”

 

“I’ll have a chat with him. Don’t worry. If I can’t get through to him, we’ll send in our secret weapon…Agent Julia. I don’t think we’ll have to, though. I assume he knows that I was unaware of most everything we spoke of tonight.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Maybe if I let him know I’m not as unhinged as he is about it, he’ll not be so twitchy.”

 

“So, you’re not upset? Truly?” Paul was honestly shocked.

 

“As long as you’re getting tested and not mindlessly licking dirty heroin needles, I think buying trouble that hasn’t shown itself is kind of wasteful. Don’t you?”

 

Paul just stared. “I hate it when you turn into an adult unannounced, John. It makes me feel as if you’ve slipped acid into my drink.”

 

John drained his tea and let out a satisfied sigh. “Enjoy the trip, love.”

 

Paul’s face softened, and he spoke with sincerity. “Thank you John, just for being you. I could say a lot of other soft stuff, but you’ll just ignore it. I’ll just say I love you and leave it at that.”

 

“I love me, too. I’m quite irresistible, always have been. Fuck if I don’t need a ciggie.”

 

“Ooh. That would be delightful, do you have some handy? I don’t know where I threw my handbag.”

 

John chuckled and dug his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. He shook one out and put it in his lip then tossed the pack at Paul.

 

Paul fingered the pack and decided to make a request.

 

“John? Come sit on the sofa with me. We can share your ashtray.”

 

“Good idea.” He snatched the ashtray and moved to the couch. Paul dropped next to him and leaned into his friend.

 

Paul suddenly turned and buried his face in John’s chest, and before he knew it he was sobbing uncontrollably. John immediately threw an arm around him to pull him closer, and found the action just made Paul cry harder. Shit.

 

Unsure of what to do, he glanced down at the unlit cigarette still in his lip. He looked down at his grieving friend and made a quick decision. He plucked the cigarette from his lip and tossed it away and turned enough to get both his arms around Paul. Smoking could wait. Paul needed him right at the moment, maybe this was another phase of his best mate’s grieving process? Shit. Where was Julia when he needed her? Dammit.

 

 He felt he needed to say something, but was at a loss. So he decided to soothe his friend the best he knew how, the way he did for his daughter. He rocked Paul in time as he began to softly sing.

 

_“There are places I remember, all my life, though some have changed. Some forever, not for better…”_

 

Paul clung to him, his sobs quieted as he listened, lulled by the melodic vibrations that rolled gently from John’s chest as he sang. By the time John finished the song, Paul had drifted to sleep. Lennon grinned when he looked across the room… his pack of cigarettes were lying forgotten on the arm of Paul’s vacated chair.

 

John took stock of his current situation, and concluded despite the sweetness of Paul’s actions, Mr. Lennon was decidedly unhappy. While Paul slept soundly, John’s back was wrenched and his nicotine fit was strengthening. He glanced down at the lonely cigarette on the floor. Shit. It was within reach, though.

 

He carefully shifted his hips and stretched his upper body to reach the smoke and, just as he nabbed it, Paul grunted. John froze as McCartney forced his arms around John’s waist and simultaneously pulled his legs up on the sofa… sighing with content as he nuzzled his head into John’s chest once more; the end result being that John was now forced to sit at a more odd angle than before.

 

“Cor fucking Blimey, Paul. I’m too old to be a contortionist!” Lennon muttered as he took the chance of disturbing Paul’s peace by pulling himself back to the corner of the couch. Paul simply followed his movement, settling once again without a sound, just as any exhausted child would.

 

John busied his mind with retrieving the ashtray trapped between the back cushion and Paul’s hip and reaching for matches on the side table. Happy for now he could smoke.

 

“This is so fucked up, mate.” John said, and then waited for a response. Figuring Paul would either wake to the sound of his voice, or the smell of the cigarette smoke. Paul didn’t stir. Satisfied, John let the ghosts of the past assault him, and continued to speak out loud.

 

“How did this shit come to be, son? Talking of our past? We never do that. Ever. I don’t know what made that Hamburg crack drop out of my mouth. I don’t know what put me in the mind-set. Then seeing the inside of Mendips, it just brought up all kinds of memories I haven’t looked at for decades.

 

“Who knows? This Julia getting married shit has made me soft, I suppose. Made me long for her to be a little girl again when she didn’t give me looks like she does now, you see.” He stubbed his cigarette out.

 

John closed his eyes and continued to be confused about… everything.

 

“And the loss of Robert, I guess. I really did like him, Paul. That’s no lie. Back in those difficult days with The Beatles, when I was experimenting with drugs… and had convinced myself that I was losing it… it was Robert who let me try heroin. It’s a personal shame I’ll never forgive myself for. I asked him about it, and he agreed to get some for me. It was selfish of me to ask him to do so. Fucking selfish. He didn’t want to do it, but was afraid I’d go find some shit dealer and get myself killed.

 

“Robert was quite relieved that I didn’t like the experience. You know what he told me? ‘Now go home, John. Quit doing drugs. Your family needs you, and The Beatles need you. Paul said music was always your drug, go use that. We’ll never speak of this again.’ And we didn’t. I continued down the happy pot road with the rest of you. Pot and alcohol.”

 

“I knew all that.” Paul’s flat voice pierced the air.

 

John gasped in surprise and Paul felt the body beneath him go rigid. McCartney planted his palms on either side of John’s chest and raised himself to look straight into his eyes.

 

“I told you Robert and I had no secrets when it came to drugs. When you spooked George by suggesting the two of you try heroin, he came to me. And I immediately went to Cyn, and we decided to talk to Robert. You needn’t feel guilty about it, when I asked Robert how your inquiries should be handled; he offered to give you a minimal dose. Long story short, John, it worked. None of us had any idea you felt so badly about it.”

 

John stared at Paul silently, unable to reply.

 

“We have so much to talk about, Lennon. I know you liked Robert, and he was always very fond of you. But.  I wonder how much more shit you’ve kept from me over the years, hm?”

 

As John slowly processed the information, his composure solidified a bit.

 

“Apparently you already know it all, why don’t you tell me?”

 

“Not tonight. I’m tired. I know you tried to talk to me about this kind of shit this morning, but it was just too much for both of us. I’m feeling the same weirdness you are, John. It’s okay.”

 

“I…I… just…” John stammered.

 

“Calm down. Its okay, really, John, we’ll get through all this. I need sleep.”

 

Still flustered and suddenly concerned with having Paul sprawled over him John just sniffed. “Get off me.”

 

Paul instead leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek. “Fret about it tomorrow, then. Thanks for helping me out tonight… sorry I ruined your shirt…”

 

“Yer welcome. Ya didn’t. Get up. I need a smoke. Now.”  Apparently unable to speak in adult sized sentences, he clamped his jaw shut and gave Paul a push.

 

Paul got to his feet and just gave a bright smile before he turned and left the room.

 

John eagerly rolled off the sofa and snatched his cigarettes. He didn’t notice his hands were shaking until he tried to light one. Shit. He closed his eyes and inhaled deep.

 

“Alright?” Paul inquired behind him.

 

“FUCK!” John half yelled, and half coughed… having not yet given his lungs permission to expel the smoke. He turned and looked at Paul, wild eyed.

 

“Sorry, mate.” Paul held up his shitbag looking sheepish. “Had to find my bag. I’m off to bed, then. Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight.” John groused. This time he listened for Paul’s footsteps ascending the stairs.

 

 _I have to clear my mind. I’m tired of thinking about all this shit._ He pulled his wallet out and opened it, brightening at the photo that greeted him first. It was a smiling snapshot of him and his girls, taken on Julia’s 17th birthday.

 

 _There’s a happy memory._ He let those recollections run through his mind as he turned out lights, checked doors, and readied himself for bed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after John and Paul's emotional AIDS discussion.

Brian rolled over, glanced at his watch, and sighed. He was up late worrying, and it was half past six. When he’d crept out of his room to take a shower the night before, John Lennon’s thundering voice filled with fear and panic could be heard from the ground floor. Brian changed his mind about the shower and went to check his bedroom door for a lock. He was disappointed to find there wasn’t one, and nervously dressed for bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin despite the summer heat.

 

He knew Lennon was going to be angry. He didn’t know whether the other three would be able to restrain him from coming after Brian for answers.

 

 The rest of the night, he dozed uneasily waiting for the bedroom door to swing open allowing an angry Lennon to confront him.

 

Something clicked across the room, and Brian froze and listened. Soon he smelled cigarette smoke? He slowly raised himself on one elbow to see John Lennon sitting comfortably in Mimi’s easy chair, grinning around the ciggie in his lip. He didn’t seem angry, but that didn’t mean Brian could find his voice…

 

“Good morning, Eppy. A little Paulie Birdie told me last night that you’ve been gossiping and speaking ill of the dead. Tsk tsk, Eppy. Robert isn’t even here to defend himself.”

 

Brian sat up and pushed himself against the headboard, unable to answer such a charge. That was actually the last thing he expected to hear from John.

 

“I—I’m afraid for him, John…” he stammered. “This could be very bad for him, and he needs to…”

 

John sat forward and jerked his cigarette from his mouth; he glanced at the door and minded the volume of his voice.

 

“He needs to what, Brian? What the fuck can he do now? What’s done is done, and clobbering Paul over the head with all this useless information is a fucking waste of time. Unless there’s a special AIDS bugger connected to cheating and heroin using boyfriends, none of this makes a shit bit of sense.”

 

Brian waved his hands. “I’m just afraid for him.”

 

“We’ve all been bloody afraid, Brian! That is nothing new. What I don’t fucking understand is you scaring the shit out of the bloke when it isn’t necessary. Christ, the man is still mourning! Why would you drag him through his Robert’s infidelities?”

 

Brian looked shocked and confused, but John wasn’t particularly interested.

 

“Francisco told me not to tell him.” Brian confessed. “I simply wanted to make sure he was getting tested. I had myself convinced he would quit being tested… because Robert was gone, and he didn’t care any longer. When our contact stopped shortly after the funeral, I was worried he would do something foolish.”

 

“Always listen to the spouse, Brian. You know Paul better than that, Francisco certainly seems to know.” John was done talking about it.

 

Brian nodded before asking a dangerous question. “How did things go with your talk last night?”

 

John smirked. “It was ugly as I’m sure you can guess. George and Ritch were disgusted with my bastard reaction. Nothing new. I honestly could have lived the rest of my life very comfortably never knowing all this shit about Robert. I think the others might feel the same way, namely Paul.”

 

Brian paled and swallowed thickly, but said nothing.

 

“Well. The mangy fucking cat is out of the bag now. I want you to take Paul out today. Somewhere, anywhere… buy him some shit, or something. And don’t forget to apologize. I don’t know what got into you, but you need to back the fuck up and make things right with him.”

 

“Yes, I can and will do that. I’ll begin with apologizing to you. I didn’t want this to turn into such a predicament, John. Really. I’m sorry.”

 

“Paul needs those words much worse than I do. Just… repair the bloody damage. I’m going out now, before the others get to moving about. Tell them I’ll be at Ye Cracke for lunch sometime today if anyone’s interested.”

 

“Right.” Brian murmured thoughtfully. “John? Is everything all right? With you, I mean.”

 

“I’m fine, Brian. I just need some thinking time. So, I’m off.” Lennon stood up and left without another word.

 

John slipped quietly out the front door and through the front gate, but stopped short on the pavement as he hadn’t given any thought about where he wanted to go.

 

His eyes swept to his right, and he caught sight of the bus stop… the one his mother was hurrying toward when she was hit. He couldn’t remember actually being able to see that intersection from Mendips and realized with some regret that he allowed Cyn to persuade him to get his vision surgically corrected. Fuck. Sometimes blind is better…

 

As he continued to scan the damned area he also realized the hedges that once covered the ancient trolley tracks down the center of the traffic reservation were gone. The ones that hid Julia until it was too late. He cocked his head trying to remember if he was still home when they were removed; the trees in their place were well established… shit, he hadn’t been back to Liverpool in a long time.

 

He shook his head and started across Menlove— carefully— remembering the numerous occasions he’d lectured his daughter about crossing streets. _Julias and traffic don’t mix_ , he thought to himself grimly.

 

When he’d crossed the street he immediately headed south, on a path he and his best mate had walked thousands of times so many years ago.  He abruptly turned right, stepped off the pavement, and scrambled up a steep bank. It wasn’t as easy as when he was a teenager. He then and pushed a thin row of trees, and looked at his feet as he stepped onto the property of the Allerton Golf Course for the first time in decades. As he lit a cigarette, he looked around. It looked much the same, as golf courses seemed to all look the same to him, anyway. It was the smell he liked best…fresh mown grass with a hint of damp earth.

 

And then an older, famous, moneyed, and no less cocky John Fucking Lennon stalked across the course diagonally, heading to the opposite corner. Completely mindless of the occasional shouts of profanity wafting in his direction…though he did listen for the distinct sound of an incoming golf ball, remembering that angry duffers might use straggling trespassers for target practice.

 

He disappeared into tree lines, emerging onto different greens and fairways. Always a surprise to players, and he savored the hell out of it. Whenever he crossed a green, he automatically grabbed the flag stick from the hole and tossed it away, just to be a wanker. Though it was a little less fun without Paul along; Paul who would swear and chase down the flagsticks and put them back, always distraught that John was so rude. He laughed out loud at the thought as he fucking _skipped_ to the last stand of trees at the corner of the course.  He turned and gave a happy wave and beatific smile to anyone who might see him before disappearing into the thicket.  

 

The low wrought iron fence was still in place, and he didn’t consider the consequences of a man his age jumping such an obstacle until after he did so. The pissed off golfers would probably love to find his 48 year old arse impaled on the fence spikes, but not today. He had a place to go.

 

Allerton Cemetery.

 

John hadn’t properly visited his mother’s gravesite since shortly after she was laid to rest. While he’d spent much time in the cemetery after she passed, he’d always avoided the section where Julia Lennon was buried. At first it was just the anguish of missing her. Then as time marched on, it drove him mad that she was a blank space in the massive community of markers... floating unrecognized and forgotten in section CE 38. He suspected that Mimi took a perverse pleasure in laying flowers and shit on a bare patch of ground. She maintained her control, the self appointed keeper of the Stanley’s shame; willing to remember her sister but not willing to share that Julia was a part of this world. He clenched his jaw.

 

God fucking forbid if his younger sisters could have a place to see their mother’s name memorialized. If Julia weren’t recognized, then her daughters weren’t. Fuckin’ Stanley bullshit. He could feel his face reddening with resentment.

 

 

When John began pulling in some real money, he yanked Mimi’s plush, expensive rug from under her holier-than-thou feet.

 

As he walked, he lobbed an absent minded two finger salute at the mere thought of Mimi.

 

During the short Christmas break in 1963, John and Cynthia stole back to Liverpool so he could order a proper headstone for Julia. While Mimi couldn’t see it fit to unhand some cash to properly mark her sister’s grave, she’d find nothing wrong with being fucking offended when not consulted on the matter. She was properly outraged that he hadn’t consulted her on design and all that shit. Instead, her insolent sod of a nephew just had it made up and let her find it on her own.

 

John and Cyn’s marriage had not turned its positive corner yet, and she was quietly ecstatic to be included in something that meant so much to him. When he first voiced his desire, she listened, asked questions, and offered input. He shook his head gloomily at the memory. Shit. She planned everything, right down to convincing Brian that John would be back to London in plenty of time. Just the two of them in a car headed for Liverpool. She provided him a break from the madness of relentless touring, and all he did was slouch in the passenger seat and grunt occasionally as she chattered happily—his head full of everything except her. The trip back to London was the same. Hindsight isn’t 20/20. It’s a mirror that reflects truth. He was a bastard, and quite a selfish one.

 

He grinned and let it go. Cyn would not stand for that shit for very long, things would begin to change before Julia’s grave was officially marked..

 

John’s wishes for his mum’s memorial were very simple: Name, birthdate, death date, and he wanted all her children’s first names mentioned with an epitaph that would ~~piss Mimi off~~ be appropriate and meaningful to all her children. Simple but respectful is what Julia would want, and she deserved. He needed his mother to have the same recognition in death as everyone else had. It seemed so simple to him.

 

He’d seen a photograph of the finished stone after it was placed in the early spring of 1964. It was perfect. So perfect that when he eventually received THE ring from Mimi, she could hardly speak. Madam Staunch-and-Proper sounded on the verge of cursing, and he was very pleased with the reaction. Especially when she rang off in a fit of rage, he didn’t care. He was fucking working.

 

John stopped and looked across the street. While he’d been busy thinking about his twat of an aunt, his body had moved on instinct and he stood before the gates of AllertonCemetery. He couldn’t remember walking that far. He shook his head and lit another cigarette as he made his way to the gates, figuring he could enter the place in an adult manner for a change. Mimi would be so fucking proud.

 

He was nervous and fought to tamp down his fear of how he might react when he actually saw Julia’s grave. Thirty-one years was a long time to avoid his mum. A very long time. So he distracted himself by counting the cigarettes he smoked along the way; and when he approached section CE 38, he was amazed that he’d just finished his sixth. The cemetery was much bigger than he remembered.

 

He could feel his gut twist as he mechanically made his way to the middle of the section, unconsciously drawn to his destination. He picked out the light grey granite of the modest, upright stone from about twenty yards and moved toward it. He slowed as he approached and jammed his hands in his trouser pockets nervously as he stopped to read.

 

**Julia Lennon**

**née Stanley**

**12 March 1914 – 15 July 1958**

**A dream never pursued can never be captured**

**Thank you, mum**

**John,**

**Julia, Jackie**

John drew in a ragged breath and felt the painful sting of tears stab his eyes. He missed her and always would miss her, but sensed a tentative acceptance he hadn’t experienced before. A warm breeze came from his left that blew his hair away from his eyes, and he felt himself calm.

 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as an awkwardness settled in him; he found himself caught between feeling grief— and relief, of all things. He raised his eyes from the stone and slowly scanned the cemetery for movement. He was alone and decided that it wasn’t so absurd to speak.

 

“Lo, mum. Been too long, hasn’t it?” The sound of his own voice spooked him as it cut sharply into the silence. It felt good, though, so he pulled out a cigarette and lit it while he contemplated what he wanted to say.

 

“I do hope you had a grand laugh when Mimi saw your monument. I put the Stanley name there to piss her off. She may have been ashamed you were a Stanley, but you weren’t. Your maiden name was the very first thing she bitched about and when I told her to fucking piss off she continued to babble about family decisions and she should have been included. It was gratifying when barmy bat slammed the phone down on me, really.”

 

He coughed self consciously and continued.

 

“The dream line was mostly for me. Mimi never cared for it. And don’t say she had my best interest at heart. She’s still as mean and self centered as she’s always been, mum. Trust me. It’s all about appearances with that one. She’s just bossy old man Stanley in women’s clothing.”

 

John flicked his cigarette away then sat on the ground in front of the headstone, Indian style. He put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.

 

“You should be here reaping the benefits of my success, mum. You were always my motivation to do well, even before you were taken from me. It isn’t fair.” He whispered.

 

“Oh, and eventually I’ll have Victoria added. There are those who think I just put my name at the top because I’m self important. The girls and I know better. When I find Victoria, her name will go after mine; in proper birth order. My idea was to have ‘Jasper’ put there, and tell everyone I had a dead twin. Cynthia said no, even when I argued that it would keep with the J theme, and I could simply hand my lost sister a pet name upon meeting her!” He sat back and laughed gleefully; knowing Julia would have absolutely appreciated the idea.

 

 “Some day, mum. She’ll be there. You made it clear she was probably very happy, and I should be mindful of her and her family’s privacy. Julia and Jackie were fine when I told them. They’ve agreed to leave it until I decide the time is right.”

 

John felt the air move again; a strong and warm current drifted from his right and tousled his hair. The breeze seemed to switch direction and struck him again. His hair seemed to take the brunt of it; he could feel the displaced strands of hair slowly settling back on his head. The strange gust was silent and vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.  John remained still with his eyebrows furrowed.

 

He also realized he didn’t feel afraid, or unsettled at the idea of… what?

 

“You’re here, aren’t you?  Cor Fucking Blimey, I actually expect it is you. You always greeted me by messing with my hair. Shit! Used to piss me off…

 

“You missed so much. I tried so diligently to cock my life up, even after the band made it. I have a stupidly supportive wife you’ve never met. I’m thankful for her every day, and we have a child you’ve never met. Our story is long and drawn out, and there’s much I’m not particularly proud to remember. That little Lennon girl made all the difference to me. Changed me, changed my direction.  She started the process, anyroad.

 

“We named her for her grandmothers. Julia Lillian. She looks just like you; with the glowing red hair and a smile that melts me in an instant… she has your laugh. It’s haunted me since she was a little girl.

 

“Fucking hell, she’s getting married soon and I can’t believe it. I’m not ready.”

 

He fell silent and thought about what he said.

 

“When I think on it now, I haven’t been ready for a god damn thing. Wasn’t ready for sudden deaths, wasn’t ready to be a husband, wasn’t ready to be a father, wasn’t ready for fame and money when it actually happened. Wasn’t ready to give up… things… Shit. Wasn’t ready to face a lot of things…

 

“The one thing I was ready for was my daughter’s 17th birthday.  The calendar had hardly turned to January of 1980, and she was on my arse about her birthday wishes already. I love my girl dearly, but her teenage years were hell on earth. It’s a bloody wonder we didn’t kill each other…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: John begins the story of his daughter's special 17th birthday.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet teenage Julia.  
> I've taken a turn here, and let John tell his story with the benefit of omniscient POV. More fun that way, I think.

**Allerton** **Cemetery** **. July 1989**

_“The one thing I was ready for was my daughter’s 17 th birthday.  The calendar had hardly turned to January of 1980, and she was on my arse about her birthday wishes already. I love my girl dearly, but her teenage years were hell on earth. It’s a bloody wonder we didn’t kill each other…”_

He smiled and rubbed his chin. “It was the weekend after New Years. I’d had several days to get over my customary hangover. Some things never change. Cyn left early that morning to run errands or some shit. I’d just sat down for some toast and tea when The Teenage Creature traipsed into the kitchen…”

**Kenwood January 5, 1980**

Julia smiled brightly. “Good morning father, giver of life. Oh! You made brekky! I’ll join you.” She nabbed a piece of toast from his plate and poured herself a cup of tea.

 

Not fully awake, John scowled and put a protective hand over the remainder of his toast. “Good morning, Stranger in my house. What did you do with my daughter? She’s the cranky one who throws things on Saturday mornings if anyone wakes her before ten. She won’t be awake for another half hour or so.”

 

“If you’d put on your damned glasses you’d know she was standing before you, ready for the day. Where’s mum, anyway?”

 

John slipped his glasses on then fixed his daughter with a suspicious stare. “She’s off doing her Saturday… things. I don’t know. She woke me before she left… what’s the matter with you?”

 

Julia smiled again and took a seat across the table from him, her eyes lit with amusement. “I’m just glad you’re here. And I wanted to chat you up… Daddy.”

 

“Right. If you’ve slashed through your allowance, I’ve promised not to give you any money. How long have you been collecting from both of us?”

 

John laughed and watched the kid struggle to keep her composure. Her eyes flashed, and her mouth dropped open to challenge him.  Just as quickly, her eyes softened and her mouth curled into a grin. She was picking her battles carefully. She let it go.

 

“Nope. I want to discuss my birthday with you.”

 

John rolled his eyes and snorted. “Blimey, Jules. Baby New Year hasn’t even shit his starched nappy, and you want to talk about your birthday?”

 

“Give us a bit of credit, dad. I waited for the New Year rather than tackling you down on Boxing Day.”

 

John sighed. “All right, then. Your courtesy is admirable, I suppose. Let’s have it.”

 

“I want to go on holiday in Hamburg, with three friends.” She stated flatly, and offered no detail.

 

She watched as his face slowly dropped into a scowl and his jaw clenched.

 

“It’s in Germany, dad, a very popular tourist spot. Don’t you remember…?” Her voice was chirpy with anticipation.

 

He sucked in a slow breath as she offered him direction, and then growled through clenched teeth:  “NO.”

 

Undaunted, she declared airily, “I asked for a discussion, not a decision.”

 

“There isn’t anything to discuss.” He shot back, his voice rising.

 

The tension in the room tightened as Julia stood and squared her shoulders. She narrowed her eyes and spoke deliberately.

 

“Yours isn’t the only say on this subject.”

 

John smiled thinly. “No, it isn’t. Your threat is empty, Miss Lennon. I’m quite confident your mother and your uncles won’t support the idea.”

 

Julia curled her fists defiantly and fought to control her voice as she changed tack. “You’ve given me no reason I can’t go other than the word NO.”

 

“I’ll give you TWO bloody reasons. You’re too young, and you’re my daughter.”

John watched as her mouth dropped open and her face flushed with spontaneous rage. He spoke again before she recovered her senses, he couldn’t help adding the sneering taunt.

 

“I can add a third. I’m not stupid.”

 

She exploded.

 

“Oh dear fucking GOD!! WHAT!?! Those aren’t reasons, they’re simple bullshit!! And since when are you such a fucking hypocrite?!?”

 

Neither one of them had heard the back door close, nor did they notice Cynthia standing in the kitchen entryway listening intently.

 

“Your traveling has consisted of visiting friends and family, WITH MY PERMISSION. This is different because you’re too fucking young to be hanging ‘round in Hamburg. Don’t even try to tell me that you and your friends want to visit for the fucking history and pretty churches…”

 

“Uncle George was 17 when he went to…”

 

John put his hand up. “Think again, daughter. Uncle George didn’t visit there for the fun of it. He had a job and, mind you, it was illegal for him to be working there. It was a different time Jules. You’re not going to Hamburg. Just… fucking NO.” He slammed his hand down on the table, rattling silverware and dishes.

 

Julia stomped her foot and waved her hand. “You’re nothing but a damn hypocrite,” she spat. “You think you know so much…”

 

“OI!! I think that’s enough!” Cynthia interrupted her daughter mid sentence. “Julia, Kate and Amanda just pulled into the drive. I gather you have plans?”

 

Julia turned on her heel and faced Cyn, her train of thought broken. “I do, we’re going to shop a bit and see a film. Will you please talk some sense into him?” Julia jerked her thumb toward John.

 

Cyn looked over Julia’s shoulder and watched John drop his face into his open hands. He looked as hurt as he was angry, and that was never a good combination.

 

“It seems to me he has the sense to know teenage girls have no business loitering about in Hamburg.”

 

John groaned.

 

Julia threw her hands up. “I can’t believe you two don’t trust me!!! I suppose I should get a battered guitar and run away to Hamburg! It seemed to work for…”

 

Cyn shook her head, and her voice dropped to a stiff tone of warning. “It isn’t a matter of trust, and you can put away the dramatics for later. Don’t keep your friends waiting.”

 

Julia knew the tone well. She was being summarily dismissed, the battle lost. For now. She clamped her jaw and trudged impetuously out of the kitchen. A muffled string of expletives could be heard before the door slammed.

 

Cyn crossed her arms and stared at John until he looked up. “My children. I can’t leave you in the same house without one of you kicking off a row?”

 

John glared at her. “I didn’t start it. She got up early, hijacked my breakfast, and proceeded to attack me. God, Cyn. She’s barking mad… wants to go to fucking Hamburg for her birthday. Are you sure she’s mine?!”

 

Cynthia snickered. “Oh, she’s all yours, darling; the full Lennon package, wonderfully ludicrous schemes and all!”

 

He offered her a half hearted wry grin, but said nothing. She looked into his eyes and saw distress.

 

She sighed and slowly strolled to the table and sat at the head, never breaking eye contact while she tried to puzzle what he could be struggling with. She reached and took his hand before speaking.

 

“And just like her dad, she doesn’t often think things through the first time. She isn’t going to Hamburg, John. When she takes the time to think a bit, she’ll realize that neither of us would ask her friends’ parents to send them on such a trip.”

 

He grunted, yielding to her sensible point, and squeezed her hand. Shit. Was she always right? 

 

“There’s something else bothering you, then.”

 

John sat back in his chair, crossed his arms and looked away.

 

“Yes. She’s going to be 17 this year, and the first thing that flies from her sodding gob is she wants to go to Hamburg.  I think she’s broken.”

 

“You always conclude she’s broken when she says or does something you don’t like. The girl has heard you and the others rave about your time in Hamburg since she can remember; it’s hardly a surprise she wants to experience it herself.”

 

John slowly turned his head with his eyebrows raised. “She’ll be thirty soon enough, and will be free to do as she pleases. Until then she can piss off!”

 

She grinned fondly and tilted her head, finally realizing what was bothering him.

 

“So you plan to be here when she’s thirty, or will you continue to cling to the notion that there is a curse on 17 year olds related to us?”

 

John pushed away from the table and began pacing the floor. “Well, shit! This birthday needs to be special, whether she realizes it or not it’s an important one. I want it to be memorable just in case… something… happens. Hamburg was not the _memorable_ I had in mind!!”

 

Cynthia lit a cigarette and slowly pulled an ashtray toward her while she let him think a bit.

 

“John, coincidence is just that: coincidence.  I plan to see every day of her 17th year. Do you have a different plan for yourself, Mr. Superstitious?”

 

“Of course not. Fuck. Can’t you please just accept a bit of my paranoia without sarcasm?” He growled his frustration as he changed direction and snatched the partially smoked cigarette from her hand. “Indulge me. If something happens to me after she turns 17, I want her to remember something fantastic. Is that so bloody terrible?”

 

Cyn rolled her eyes. “First I’ll state the obvious. You’re already her fantastic dad.  Yes, she’s routinely difficult and thrives on testing limits, but at the end of the day, you’re her world. There’s nothing you can add to that.”

 

“ _We’re_ her world, love. Not just me.” John corrected.

 

“Indeed. But I’m not the one fretting over my legacy should I die during my daughter’s 17th year, am I?”

 

“No.”

 

“Second, you must promise me that you’ll let this go and just let her be her age. Whatever you decide to dream up for this particular birthday, let that be the end of it; can you do that?” She lit another smoke while John considered his answer.

 

“Yes”. He lied. They both knew it.

 

“Brilliant. Dare I ask if you already have something in mind, then?”

 

John lowered his head and gave his wife a leering grin while raising one fuzzy eyebrow. He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and motioned for her to do the same. “Cor, I thought you’d never ask. Come with me…”

 

He took her hand and led her to the living room. He stopped in front of the sofa and bent over and jammed his free hand under a cushion. He glanced back at Cyn as he retrieved a wrinkly, folded sheet of notebook paper.  Cyn looked perplexed.

 

“Shit. I’ve learned enough that teenagers are snoopy little twats. I hid it here because she’d never look here. You didn’t find it either, you know.” He flopped on the couch and pulled his wife into his lap with a grunt.

 

“Hello, Miss Powell. Care to have a look at my homework? I’m afraid it may not be very good.” He waved the paper in front of her face.  She giggled and snatched it from his hand as he settled his arms around her.

 

As her practiced eye translated the unique scrawl that doubled as John’s penmanship she slowly shook her head. When finished, she stared off vacantly considering his proposal.

 

John squirmed with excited tension and buried his face in her shoulder, then offered in a muffled voice. “It’s going to take time, a lot of phone calls, and a lot of convincing. We’ll obviously have to ask Brian for help.”

 

Cyn shifted herself sideways in his lap and draped an arm around his shoulder, as she turned her attention back to his paper.

 

“It’s fucking brilliant, John, and it won’t be easy to keep from her… there is a long list of people who will need to know. And, are you quite sure you want to do this?”

 

John exhaled and tightened his hold around her. He knew without Cyn none of this could happen. She managed to keep their lives on an even keel, and wasn’t timid about voicing her concern if she felt that balance was threatened. John Lennon thrived under the stability she provided.  

 

“I’ve thought a lot about it, and I’m absolutely certain. I know it’ll be difficult, but it’ll be worth it. Grand fun for everyone, I think.” He reached out and put a finger to her chin and turned her head to look at him. “I realize there’s a lot of detail not included in my sketch. It’ll be a nightmare to organize.

 

“And nearly impossible to keep secret from Julia.” He added.

 

She leaned in and kissed him briefly before answering. “Good enough. Fun, indeed, and the details can be managed. I think we should start with her friends… they’ll be the weakest link. If they have time to absorb it and calm down, the rest should be reasonably controllable. Brian will see to that.”

 

John nodded his agreement and smiled widely with a vengeful glint in his eye. A bad sign, as she considered the fact that HE was actually the weakest link. She put a hand on his jaw and addressed this.

 

“Listen to me. You should be reminded that tampering with Julia is going to be hard on you. As you already know, she’s still a bitch teenager and will make all this difficult without trying, so you’re going to have to keep your head as her birthday approaches. You can’t give in to teasing her with mysterious taunts and the like. As with you, it isn’t a button to be pushed. Agreed?”

 

John’s mischievous face fell. “Oh, shit. I hadn’t thought of that. I was quite looking forward to a bit of birthday torture. But you’re right. She won’t take shit from me, but Brian and Frankie can keep things interesting.”

 

“Yes, they can, and they will be more mindful of her limits.” Cyn kissed him again and pushed off his lap then turned to reach for his hand. “Come on, Super Dad. We need to set up a meeting with Brian today. If this is going to happen he needs to get started straight away.”

 

John stayed put and resisted her tug on his hand causing her to look at him. “Thank you, Miss Powell. Really. I thought you may nix the idea from the beginning.”

 

“Don’t thank me now. The next several months are going to be absolute fucking madness. I’ll remind you whose idea this was when you’re yanking your hair out and whimpering about your broken daughter!”

 

**April 8, 1980**

“You’re a couple of thoughtless **shits**! I can’t _believe_ neither of you are here! It’s my _birthday_ , dad! You should have planned your fucking business trips better than this. Uncle Brian arranged all this for me and you two are going to be late?”

 

John slammed his head on the phone booth glass, clutching the receiver as his daughter ripped him a new arsehole.

 

“I’m sorry. Paul’s sorry. I’m sorrier, because I allowed him to take a side shopping trip. I know better. I thought it’d be quick. I couldn’t lever him out of the clothes shop to save my life. Ah Christ…”

 

Julia could hear Paul rattling the phone booth door and pounding on the glass; his muffled voice crying and begging forgiveness, and demanding John to let him talk to her.

 

She could hear John kick the door and holler at him with the receiver away from his face. “Fuck off, Paul! I’m cutting this short; we’re late as it is. She knows you cocked it up, now SHUT UP!!” John returned to his conversation, sweetening his voice. “We’re leaving now, Jules. We may just make it before your special guests show up. Has Brian told you who it is yet??”

 

“Fuck. NO he hasn’t. He’s only said I’ll be the envy of all my friends. Uncle Franc keeps calling and asking for guesses. How can such a handsome bloke be such a fucking tease? I have some guesses, but I’m afraid to hope too much. You two tossers had best be here. You were both gone for too many of my birthdays when I was a kid. You bloody PROMISED you’d be here!!!”

 

“We’re leaving now, love. Don’t worry. I’ll let Paul drive. Has everyone else arrived?”

 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re not here. Leave now.”

 

The line went dead. Once again Julia had the last word. Shit.

 

********

 

Riding in the back of a town car, Julia Lennon seethed in silence; Cynthia sat next to her trying to decide how to defuse her bomb of a daughter.

 

“Please try to calm down, Jules. Your father didn’t do this deliberately, for goodness sake. He told you this morning he’d be here. At least he had the courtesy to ring you instead of leaving you hanging…”

 

“No, mum. Get it right. He PROMISED me he’d be here. He could have cancelled that meeting. He’s made clear his priorities. He can piss off; Paul, too. I can’t believe Uncle Paul of all people didn’t just cancel the fucking thing. I swear if Uncle Robert was here, he would have told Paul to cancel it. I’m already sorely disappointed that he’s sick with the flu. Again.

 

Cynthia studied her daughter and bit her lip. She wanted to smile like an idiot, but fought the urge. _She and John could be mistaken for twins, especially the set jaw and general pissed off face._ For once she didn’t mind at all being caught in the middle of her temper prone husband and his emotional protégé. She resisted a rising giggle and cleared her throat instead.

 

“Jules, be angry if you must, there are a lot of people waiting for you and excited about this Brian surprise. Don’t ruin it with your temper. Please.”

 

Julia rolled her eyes and drew a deep breath. “I know… I’ll save it for when I see _him_. AND Paul.”

 

“Good girl! Are you excited about this, then?”

 

“Of course I am. Uncle Brian’s surprises are the best.”

 

The car slowed and Julia pressed her forehead to the door glass, and gasped.

 

“OH!! The Palladium? I knew it. I just _know_ its Van Halen. Shit. You’re gonna have to pull me off David Lee Roth, mum. My friends have been having fits for a week. Only David Lee could have them in such a silly state.”

 

The front of the building was deserted, except for Brian and Francisco standing at the curb to greet them.

 

Francisco opened the car door and Brian moved to help Cyn, then Julia out of the car. Julia gave both her uncles big hugs and accepted their birthday wishes before she turned and began a brisk march toward the venue doors. Without them.

 

Francisco was faster than Brian and caught her by the arm. “Not so fast, girlie. We have rules, you know.”

 

“Bullshit, Franc. I’m going in!”

 

“Julia! Wait a tick, now.” Brian laughed. “I need to tell you what’s happening.”

 

The tense and unhappy teen leaned against Francisco, who kept an arm around her to prevent her escape. “If you’re waiting for dad and Paul, they’re going to be late. Let’s go…”

 

“Oh. They are? I thought they’d be either with you, or close behind! That meeting was only supposed to last an hour or so…”

 

Cyn shook her head. “No, they’re a bit late. Paul had a shopping itch, and John stupidly let him scratch it.”

 

“Oh, dear. Well, what do you think we should do? Wait for them?”

 

Julia tossed her shock of long red hair in disgust and took a threatening step toward Brian. “NO. This is my surprise, and those two fuckwits screwed it up for themselves. I’m not waiting.”

 

Brian and Francisco both looked to Cyn who shrugged helplessly. “I think the birthday girl has final say?” She offered.

 

A noticeably apprehensive Brian relented. “Right. But...” He looked squarely at Julia. “You realize your father is going to be infuriated with me for not waiting…”

 

Julia tensed and set her jaw. Again. “It isn’t his birthday, is it?”

 

“No, it isn’t. You’re the authority today, precious. Your guests have already arrived. Everyone is seated in the theater. There are seats front and center for the four of you. All six of your special guests are here and ready to go. They’re on a tight schedule, fitting us in… so I guess it’s really best we don’t wait for John and Paul.”

 

Julia’s eyes widened in shock. “SIX?? Six special guests? That isn’t Van Halen!!”

 

Francisco laughed this time. “There, there, Jules. Expectations are not good for a surprise. That kind of thinking will set you up for disappointment, gorgeous.” He smiled broadly at her, clearly amused she’d given up her guess.

 

Julia rolled her eyes at him.

 

“He’s right! Come on, we’ll escort you in!!” Brian proffered his arm for Julia, as Cyn took Francisco’s arm.

 

 Franc patted Cyn’s hand and whispered, “Hang in there, mum. It’s almost over.”

 

Cynthia smiled and answered. “Don’t worry for me, worry for John and Paul!”

 

****AUTHOR'S NOTE 10/19/2014 : Please note I am far from finished with this story. I've been planning a trip to Liverpool for a very long time, and it is coming to fruition in just a few days. Planning plus Real Life crap has hindered my writing time, but I have not given up on this story. I actually hope that hanging out in Liverpool for a bit will fan the muse fires. I really do appreciate you reading my madness... Thank You!!   JB**


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